


Gryphon's Blood

by AcelinWolf



Series: Tarnov Pack [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, Dragons, Drama & Romance, F/M, M/M, Magic, Marriage Contracts, Pack Politics, Past Rape/Non-con, Psychic Bond, Shapeshifters - Freeform, Sorcerer Politics, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2020-07-07 03:24:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19843564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcelinWolf/pseuds/AcelinWolf
Summary: Servos Roesch's life has never been more complicated. Six months ago, he lost his sister to werewolves, adopted her only daughter, and became the alpha of a new pack to avenge her death. It hasn't been easy, but he's never run from a challenge.All seems well...until a rogue shifter attack forces him to reveal what he is, and he must turn to the unpredictable blueblood, Eadric Tyran, for help.But nothing comes for free, and Eadric wantshimas payment.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Before we begin, there's a few things you should know. 
> 
> 1\. This is the sequel to Gryphon Bound, which can only be found on [Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075BSG7MP/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1504413956&sr=1-1&keywords=Gryphon+Bound+Amelia). _However_ , I think it makes a great story by itself, and I've done my best to summarize book one below. Give it a try! This story is finished and will be updated regularly (as I edit it chapter-by-chapter). 
> 
> If you don't wanna spoil anything for Gryphon Bound, you can buy it on Kindle or as a paperback. I promise it's worth it. :)
> 
> 2\. If you read, I would love if you took the time to comment so that I know if I should post the rest of this book here. 
> 
> 3\. The prologue is short, but the rest of the chapters are longer. Don't worry. ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Highlights from Book 1,** Gryphon Bound:
> 
>   
> Servos is woken by his closest friend's (Eadric Tyran) wife, Amaya Tyran, in the dead of night. Her son, Iden, is experiencing his first shift into dragon form, an unexpected development because Amaya is unable to shift. It was assumed her son would inherit her misfortune. A shifter himself (a gryphon)—though very few know it—Servos helps Iden through it and agrees to become his teacher. 
> 
> Life complicates further when Reginald, a fellow shifter and employee at Servos' potions business, shows up on his doorstep with a strange weretiger. Thin but feral, River is in desperate need of help, which Servos agrees to help him find after he returns from an educational trip with Iden. 
> 
> Servos spends a few days with Iden in the wilderness, helping him come to terms with his dragon heritage that he must hide from his father. Eadric, like many sorcerers, has anti-shifter views, which is partially why Servos has concealed his own nature. 
> 
> After dropping off Iden at home, Servos checks in with his adoptive sister via telepathy, and when he's met with silence, his paranoia forces him to visit. He finds chaos. Werewolves have killed his beloved sister, Selena, and are in the midst of kidnapping his niece, Estella. Reginald and River are already on the scene, and the three of them manage to kill and drive the wolves off to save Estella—but Servos' injuries put him in critical condition. 
> 
> While he battles unconsciousness, Reginald and River rush him to Tyran Manor. Servos wakes much later to find the Tyrans have gotten them medical care, but Estella has been irrevocably changed because she was bitten by one of the werewolves. Drowning in grief, he doesn't notice Eadric's suspicions until it's too late, and after Eadric uncovers that he's a shifter—a gryphon, no less, a supposedly extinct species—he seduces Servos. 
> 
> While trying to navigate Eadric's growing interest in him, he forms an official Pack with Reginald, River, and Estella to secure her future. The hunt for the rogue werewolf pack begins but leads are few and far between. Meanwhile, Eadric invites Servos to dinner where he meets Adrastos Lyfing, a man as sincere as a career politician, who offers him a job. Servos follows his instincts and declines. 
> 
> His arrival home is delayed by an intruder who introduces herself as Jalia. Her pack was recently wiped out by werewolves, leaving her and her little brother, Dracen, with nowhere to go. Realizing that Jalia knew his sister, he shows compassion and invites her to join their little pack. 
> 
> Meanwhile, the investigation into the werewolves continues and eventually leads them to a secluded forest preserve where spying on their enemies reveals that the attack on Selena was coordinated by a higher power. Outnumbered, they retreat to regroup and plan. 
> 
> After her first full moon as a werewolf, Servos and Estella head to Tyran Manor to discuss the sponsorship proposed by Eadric—which is the only way she will be allowed to live among sorcerers in relative peace—but they are ambushed by werewolves. Servos is dragged before Pythos Amador, a former colleague of Selena's, who in an attempt to control a coveted gryphon, makes Eadric force Servos to drink an Enthrallment Potion. Eadric's mental pleas for understanding and forgiveness somehow reach Servos' mind, and without warning, a strange psychic connection opens between them, allowing them to plot against Pythos in secret. To his surprise, the Enthrallment Potion doesn't seem to do more than sedate him. 
> 
> Heavily drugged, Servos is helpless to stop Pythos who takes him into a private room and sexually assaults him in an attempt to bind them together with ritual magic. Reginald, River, and Jalia arrive, and the five of them are able to defeat Pythos and his small army—but not before Amaya is killed. In the aftermath, they find and free many shifters Pythos was keeping captive for research purposes, and some opt to join the newly formed Tarnov Pack. 
> 
> Once alone, Eadric confesses that he knew the Enthrallment Potion wouldn't enslave Servos because he himself tested it on Servos the night he seduced him. Enraged at the betrayal, they do not part on good terms, but Eadric makes it known he is determined to earn forgiveness and begins by having an apartment complex built for the newly freed shifters who have nowhere to go. 

* * *

Eadric Tyran dropped the white envelope onto his desk and poured himself a celebratory tumbler of scotch. As he sipped, his eyes traced the unique insignias of each councilmember, savoring the victory for the milestone it was. If his wife still lived, he would no doubt be having this drink with her, basking in her praise as if it were the fire of his ambitions. In truth, it had been a contributing factor, but he was a Tyran. Even if he was the last sorcerer in this city, he would be vying for a position powerful enough to guarantee the safety of his estate and the continuation of his legacy. As the patriarch of one of the Founding Fifteen—one of the original families to settle this city for sorcerers—he had inherent influence, but he needed more to execute his plans. 

Now, he had it. It truly was a shame that he had to celebrate alone, he mused as he recalled a particularly _invigorating_ memory involving Servos and this very desk. Frustratingly, he could not seek Servos out because the two of them weren’t currently speaking. 

A minor and necessary complication. Nothing Eadric couldn’t handle. 

He finished the scotch as he considered his next move. This victory, though immense, was merely the beginning—merely the foundation of the edifice that was his carefully laid plans. A Tyran always got what he wanted, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t require dedication and toil. Servos might be a gryphon, but Eadric was the hunter in this scenario. With unrelenting patience, he would get what he wanted. 

He always did. 


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a recap of book 1, so sorry if it feels like an information dump! As such, it contains spoilers for book one, Gryphon Bound. If you're hesitant to see spoilers for a book you may want to read, you can preview/purchase it [here](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075BSG7MP/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1504413956&sr=1-1&keywords=Gryphon+Bound+Amelia). ♥

“Lord Tyran, some claim your sponsorship of Estella Roesch—the one that allows her to attend Styx Academy—means you’ll be too lax on issues pertaining to shifters. Would you care to respond to that?” The interviewer on the television, a small blonde with a flirtatious smile, looked positively predatory. Her slip dress showed off her figure but was casual enough to make her seem relatable, and her makeup, no doubt professionally done, emphasized her natural beauty. This was a woman not only used to weaponizing her beauty but was used to it succeeding.

She was remarkable, but she had nothing on the sorcerer who sat across from her.

Eadric Tyran was all sharp features, steel eyes, and cool confidence. He wore an expensive, light grey suit that was probably worth more than Servos' entire wardrobe. His white-gold hair was tied back, each strand scrupulously in place. Extensive grooming was the way of all bluebloods, but those of Eadric's prestige made it an art. With his hands clasped in his lap, he appeared far too composed for a man whose stance on a controversial political issue was being challenged. His smile was polite, but Servos could see the animosity in his gaze. 

Eadric did not like this woman. 

_ Good.  _ Servos scowled at the unwelcome jealousy and crammed a generous spoonful of vanilla ice cream into his mouth. 

Without his sister, comfort foods were limited to what he could buy. He had far less baking experience than Selena, and these days he had little time to do so anyway. Life had been a constant stream of hurdles since her death, and he didn't foresee things becoming less hectic anytime soon. 

“Jeannine.” Eadric emphasized the woman's name as if it was a delicacy to be savored. His smile was inviting, flawlessly charming. Servos, who knew better, rather thought he resembled a lion among jackals— _ the _ predator among predators. “My priority has been and always will be the well-being of sorcerers.” 

Servos ate another spoonful, equally annoyed and pleased that the interviewer didn't seem impressed with his answer. It wasn't that Servos wanted him to look bad; he just wanted to see Eadric suffer a little. 

He deserved it. 

In June, shortly after Eadric had paid for an apartment complex to be built on Servos’ property, he'd publicly announced his intention to run for councilor. Though the citizens didn't vote councilors into office—it was decided on by the current council members—popular opinion mattered greatly, and Eadric Tyran ran one hell of a campaign. It helped that the Tyran name was both well-known and well-respected, if not equally feared. 

Eadric was an asshole who hadn’t made an effort to reach out to Servos in  _ months _ , but he was still the best candidate for the council position that presided over the Tarnov-Wroevale territory. Demetrios Nikon and Adrastos Lyfing, his competition, were two men Servos didn’t know well enough to trust them with such power. Though he worried that Eadric would become like his father if he joined the council’s ranks, neither of the other men were half as qualified as Eadric was. 

Jeannine’s smile didn't quite reach her eyes. “Even ones like Estella Roesch?” 

Servos bristled when his niece was mentioned for a second time, but Eadric was unperturbed. “I feel strongly that all sorcerers should have the right to live in Tarnov, attend Styx Academy, and be a functioning member of society.”

Jeannine seemed to find it difficult to remain composed. “You mean those who are  _ infected _ . Arguably the most dangerous shifters of all.” 

“They are but a fraction of the population I speak of. Those that are bitten often have children, thereby creating shifters that are born noninfectious and, more importantly, with our magic.”

Servos knew of a few who fit that description, but he did not. Though half sorcerer and half shifter, Servos was not descended from a sorcerer who had been infected. His species, gryphons, were only born. Similarly, Eadric's son, Iden, was a half-blooded dragon. He and Iden were the ones slowly changing Eadric’s previously held anti-shifter attitudes. Years of ingrained prejudice couldn’t be eradicated overnight, but Servos had to admit that Eadric had come far. 

Jeannine wasn't moved. “They may have sorcerer blood, but some would argue that they don't know our ways. That they can't or won't assimilate. What would you say to this?” 

When she said 'some would say,' she clearly meant 'in my opinion,' but Servos wasn't surprised. Eadric wasn't the only one who had been raised with an avid hate for shifters. It was entrenched in every aspect of their society. 

“A valid concern,” Eadric said. 

No, it wasn't. 

“That's why we will have a trial basis with a small group of shifters.”

That was news to Servos. As alpha of the local pack, one that lived in secret on the edge of the city, he would have to be involved to ensure the security of his members. If Eadric thought otherwise—

“And what of the fact that shifters have been known to have a predisposition towards violence and crime?” she pressed. 

The commonly repeated myth hardly even bothered Servos anymore. He'd been hearing it all of his life. 

“I will personally handle the vetting process for the trial basis.”

He shouldn't have been disappointed that Eadric didn't see fit to counter her statement with facts, but he was. Servos knew it could have been a political disaster for Eadric to do so, but he felt slighted all the same. Change happened slowly in the world of politics. Servos knew that, and that's why he'd avoided them all his life. He didn't have the patience. 

“And, if successful, our city will be flooded with hybrids. Is that the end goal?” 

Was it wrong that Servos found her thinly veiled terror amusing? 

Eadric smiled like a parent practicing patience. “There isn't a census available, but I doubt there will be any number worthy of being called a flood. We know there have been around two hundred sorcerers turned in the last thirty years across the country. In fact, we have a case from earlier this year. Selena Roesch was one of the greatest potioners of our time, and it seems to be a great travesty that rather than helping her orphaned daughter, comments such as ‘it’s unfortunate she didn’t die with her mother’ are all too common.”

Eadric had her cornered, and Jeannine knew it. Werewolf or not, it would never be politically correct to publicly advocate the death of a child. She likely had something bigoted to say but couldn’t do so without losing the high ground. 

Jeannine forced another smile. “I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for today.” She reached out to shake Eadric’s hand, thanked him for being on the show, and ended the segment.

Servos picked up the remote to turn the television off, and as he did, the tub of ice cream was swiped from his hand. He knew who was responsible before he looked up, keen senses alerting him the moment she’d started up the stairs.

Estella plopped down beside him on the couch with a container of sprinkles, and he didn’t protest when she poured a generous amount straight into the tub (since it was almost empty anyway). Then, she took a big bite and hummed in satisfaction. Her honey colored eyes closed as she savored the taste, tucking a loose strand of curly, caramel-brown hair behind her ear. 

“Anything good on?”

He summoned a new spoon from the kitchen and took a bite of ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. “No.”

Which was regrettable. It was his one night off from brewing and pack duties—granted that an emergency didn’t come up—and there was absolutely nothing to watch. Every Saturday night was his time to unwind. Most nights he read or worked on potion theories, but today he hadn’t been in the mood for either.

Estella wrinkled her nose, but then her eyes lit up. “I bet there’s a movie playing on the women’s network.”

Suddenly, reading seemed quite appealing. “Enjoy,” he said, handing her the remote.

Some nights she might have treated him to her best pleading look, but today she didn’t. “'Kay. Your loss.”

“Cheeky brat,” he replied affectionately. 

She grinned. “Oh! By the way, Fia and I were wondering if we could go to the bookstore tomorrow.”

Felicia Hall, one of the shifters their pack had rescued from an illegal research project nearly six months ago, had quickly become Estella’s closest friend. Like a good alpha, Servos had gotten to know each of the shifters that had decided to join the pack. Just a few months older than Estella, Felicia was soft-spoken and reserved, but she seemed to light up around his niece. 

When Pythos Amador—one of the men in charge of the research operation—sent his werewolves after Felicia, she was living alone with her father far outside Tarnov. Neither of them were sorcerer-born, and they’d lived a quiet life. They’d had no reason to suspect they’d be dragged into sorcerer affairs. An entire clan of wereotters would have been no match for werewolves, so although her father fought with valor to try to fend them off, he’d failed. Servos knew all of this because she’d broken down and told the story to Jalia, who’d promptly cornered him and shared the horrific tale. The pack held a late memorial service for her father, and Servos had taken her in under his roof. 

The shifters they had rescued—rather, those that had chosen to stay—lived in an apartment complex on his property. Eadric had funded it to repay Servos for saving his son from Pythos who had briefly held him hostage. Servos hadn’t felt he deserved the gratitude, seeing as he’d failed to save Amaya, Eadric’s late wife. Though he and Amaya had been far from friends, Servos still felt a pang of guilt when he thought about her. What she lacked in warmth, she'd made up for with dedication to her family. 

“I don’t see why not,” he replied after careful consideration. The bookstore was a twenty minute walk from the house. Servos’ home—inherited from Selena—rested on the edge of the hidden sorcerer city of Tarnov. Although downtown was only a twenty-five minute drive away, he favored caution. The entire city knew what she was, and shifters were  _ not _ popular. Thus, he added the stipulation, “With an escort.”

She huffed but didn’t argue, knowing it would be pointless. “Can it be River?”

“If he’s available. Ask him.”

River helped Reginald out at the potions shop some days, but he was no sorcerer and couldn’t do any of the actual brewing. Long before Selena, Estella’s mother, was killed in a revenge plot by Pythos Amador, she had handed the business over to Servos. Before that, she had been gifted with it by Eva, Selena's mother and Servos’ adoptive mother. Technically, now it was Servos  _ and  _ Reginald’s business. He’d promoted the other man to partner two months ago due to his own lack of activity at the shop. He continued to work there part time, taking care of the finances and helping to complete orders from home when he could. The majority of his time was spent handling pack affairs, as any good alpha did, and tutoring Iden Tyran, his godson.

Despite that they had lessons three times a week—and Servos picked Iden up and dropped him off each time—he rarely saw Eadric these days. Money was deposited into his account, but his so-called  _ friend  _ of over fifteen years seemed to be avoiding him.

The fact that the avoidance bothered him actually bothered him more than the avoidance itself. 

He didn't need Eadric Tyran in his life. 

Months ago, just after they had taken down Pythos and his goons, Eadric had accidentally revealed that he’d dosed Servos with an experimental potion—one designed to enslave a shifter to the person that dosed them. Though it hadn’t worked, the very idea that Eadric would attempt such a diabolical ploy in a moment of frustration had irrevocably damaged their relationship. Unfortunately, Servos cared too much about Iden, his godson, to abandon him, so he hadn't completely severed all ties.

That, Servos realized in retrospect, was where the problem had begun. He felt he had every right to ignore Eadric, but he hadn't expected Eadric to be the one ignoring  _ him. _ He'd expected the man to be relentless in pursuing his forgiveness. 

When a month passed without a word from Eadric, he'd resigned himself to the truth staring him in the face. Eadric wanted nothing to do with him. Whether that was because he was mourning his wife, which Servos understood, or because he blamed him for her death he did not know. 

He also didn't care, he told himself. 

Then, after two months of no contact, he'd run into Eadric at the tea shop downtown. Servos had seen no reason to approach him—especially since the things he longed to say weren't polite to say in public—but Eadric, upon spotting him, sauntered over. 

“Servos.”

"Eadric.” 

“I've been quite pleased with Iden's progress,” Eadric said, as if they had nothing else to discuss. 

Servos wanted to hex him but instead offered an obviously forced smile. “I'm glad to hear it.”

“Have you tried the White Tip Earl Grey tea they sell here?”

What was Eadric playing at? “Can't say I have.”

“A pity. Here. Let me buy you a few ounces. My treat.”

Refusing was more trouble than it was worth. So, he'd accepted the offer, and they'd parted ways. 

The next day, his face was on the front page with Eadric’s—accompanied by an interview with one of the customers that had seen them browsing the tea shop together .Having his face in the paper, his personal information publicized, unnerved Servos. Of course, there was always the constant fear of being discovered for the shifter he was. Thus far, he’d been able to hide it from his fellow sorcerers, but how long would that last with reporters digging through Servos’ life to unearth the potential-councilor’s dirty secrets?

That day in the tea shop was the last time he'd talked to Eadric. Servos wasn’t a fool. Eadric clearly wanted to separate himself from Servos and his pack. Though none of them were out to the public, there was always the risk of discovery. Eadric probably wanted nothing to ruin his chances of becoming a councilman. Associating with shifters was different than supporting sorcerer-born shifter rights, Servos thought bitterly.

Perhaps Eadric was also concerned about the ramifications of having it revealed that he was attracted to men. Homophobic attitudes weren’t uncommon—even if they weren't the majority. Apart from those that felt it was morally wrong, there were those who felt it was somehow a display of weakness. Neither argument made sense to Servos. 

Whatever the reason for Eadric’s silence, it was just  _ fine _ with Servos. Who cared that they had an unprecedented  _ mental link _ that allowed them to share thoughts and feelings at will—a bond that Eadric had  _ purposely _ invoked by drugging and fucking him. 

Servos had spent the days after Eadric’s confession thoroughly researching the link between them. The only information he could gather on the subject came from an old tomb—a book written about gryphons  _ by _ a gryphon. A family heirloom though it was, Eadric had given it to him as penance when Servos had asked. Though Eadric hadn’t been able to read the ancient language, his father had left some notes in the pages—notes that Servos had burned after thoroughly memorizing. He wasn’t eager to have them fall into the wrong hands again. 

Though he’d only been nine when he'd fled his homeland, Servos was able to decipher the written language of his race. He read it so well, in fact, that he knew it had to be an extension of his magic. It didn’t take him more than a week to read methodically through the tomb. Each chapter was dedicated to the branches of magic gryphons specialized in: nature, healing, abjuration, divination, enchantment, evocation, illusion, and mind. Of the eight branches, mind and divination were the rarest, and each branch had a distinct hue associated with it. The color of a gryphon’s markings—such as the cobalt that tipped some of Servos’ feathers—were dependent on what branch they excelled at.

Unfortunately, the book had little information on mind magic. According to the author, powerful mind mages had become uncommon  _ long _ before the book was written over five hundred years old. Frustratingly, it never said why. The tomb went on to say that mind magic included telepathy, language translation, the ability to influence the emotions of others, and soulbonds. 

The unfamiliar word resonated with him. A soulbond. Was that what he shared with Eadric? Hopeful that he was finally going to get answers, he'd turned the page—and found the rest of the chapter had been ripped out. 

Furious, he'd contacted Eadric who denied knowing where the missing information was. When he expressed his skepticism, Eadric had offered to take a truth serum, and Servos was forced to accept he was telling the truth. With nowhere else to turn to for research, he'd temporarily accepted defeat. 

So not only did Servos not understand the bond he shared with Eadric, but he had no way to find out. It was a small comfort that, apart from the occasionally strong emotion Servos picked up from Eadric, it was mostly silent. When he tried, he could still reach through the bond to feel the icy calm that was Eadric’s mental presence. It had been months since he did so because he wasn’t certain if Eadric could sense the intrusion, and he didn’t want the other man’s attention. 

_ Not one bit _ , he told himself firmly. 

Realizing he’d been silent for too long, he focused on Estella. “Have the dishes been done?” he asked. 

Estella looked at him innocently, spoon frozen halfway to her mouth. “Uh. No.”

“Whose turn is it?” They had a set schedule for the small list of weekly chores he assigned her and Felicia. He'd expected to be met with resistance, but both girls had accepted their duties with little fanfare. Servos was impressed with how well the two girls handled their responsibilities. Though both of them were just eleven years of age, they rarely needed to be reminded or prodded. 

Being the guardian of two girls on the cusp of teenhood was by no means easy, but he knew he'd lucked out with Estrella and Felicia. Though Servos was certain Felicia was always on her best behavior out of fear, he hoped that would change over time. A little rebellion was good for growth. 

“Fia and I switched days. She’s doing them because I have a project I have to get started tonight, so that we can go to the bookstore tomorrow.”

The small but sudden frown on Estella's face put him on alert. “What’s wrong?”

Her head jerked up, and her right hand jumped to fiddle with the silver-colored gryphon charm around her neck.

He might be relatively new to parenting, but he knew Estella’s tells. When she was anxious, she tended to play with the necklace her mother had gotten her shortly before she was killed.

“Nothing,” she lied. 

After a quick recap of the conversation leading up to her change in mood, he made an educated guess. “Trouble with the project?”

He could tell he hit the nail on the head when she looked up, and her eyes shifted to amber in irritation—her wolf subconsciously called to the surface.

“Not really trouble. It’s just…” She pulled her legs up, sitting cross-legged on the couch before the words came pouring out. “In history class we have to do a project to research one of the councilors that have been active in relations with shifters, and we have to write a speech from their point of view. My group has to do Councilor McNeil. Well, yesterday, when we got assigned the project, a stupid guy in my class made a comment about how it wasn’t fair they had to work with me because I’ll just be  _ biased _ against McNeil. Like, I couldn't possibly hate him because he was a jerk. Nope. I must hate him because I'm a werewolf.”

It was hard not to be offended on her behalf. “Did you report it to the teacher?”

Though it was unlikely the teacher would care, if the matter wasn’t handled appropriately, the faculty knew it would get back to Eadric Tyran. In agreeing to sponsor her, Eadric was lending the Tyran family name to her. It put a lot of pressure on her, yes, but it also afforded her protections Servos could not otherwise give her. 

There were certain privileges that only descendants of the Founding Fifteen were allowed, classist as it was. According to history, fifteen sorcerer families founded Tarnov in the early 1700s, sorcerers that split off from well-established family groups in Europe. The Tyrans were just one of them. Servos knew all of the family names, thanks to the genealogy lessons Adalric Tyran forced on him as a boy. Their political power was unparalleled, and Servos knew that without Eadric, Estella wouldn’t be in Styx Academy—the sorcerer school all children in Tarnov attended when they reached sixth grade.

“Yeah, I did. He got scolded but…” She sighed and picked up the tub of semi-melted ice cream. The sprinkles were smears of color now. “I hate group projects.”

Servos hated them as well, but that wasn't a helpful comment. Unfortunately, there wasn't much he could do if she didn't feel the issue was big enough to involve Eadric in, so he begrudgingly settled back on the couch. 

He couldn't help, but he could offer her a distraction. “Why don’t you turn on a movie?”

With a renewed grin, Estella did just that, accepting the first one she found. It was a depressing movie about a woman in an abusive relationship. He wasn’t sure how child-friendly it was. He'd never been good at judging that, but there was no violence or sex on screen. It seemed to be a story about a woman on the run with her son, and after thirty minutes, he lost focus and was making a mental list of things he needed to accomplish the following day.

Estella's gasp brought him back to the present, and he found the movie had taken a turn. The husband had tracked down his wife and was attempting to wrestle her into the hotel bed.

Servos was out of his seat and in the bathroom before he realized he was moving. 

Door locked, he clutched the white countertop like it was the only thing keeping him upright. Chest tight as if under the grip of a colossal constrictor, he turned on the water and splashed his face. Focusing on the sound of the sink helped drown out the taunting voice in his head—a memory he  _ thought _ he was done reliving. The feeling of cold stone on his chest, hands digging into his hips, and searing pain—it was still too vivid. 

He focused on breathing, reminding himself over and over that he was at home. Eventually, the panic started to fade away, and he realized he’d left Estella on the couch without a word.

He should have told her to turn that damn movie off instead of running away like a fucking coward. He’d inadvertently left a child to watch an attempted rape scene—implied or otherwise—and fled because he couldn’t handle his own demons. What was  _ wrong  _ with him? 

Using the downy hand towel to dry his face, he focused his hearing and found Estella was no longer watching the movie; she was talking with Jalia.

He sighed in relief.

Satisfied that his niece was in good hands, Servos took time to collect himself, not wanting either of them to ask questions when he emerged. Pythos had taken the secret of his crime to his grave when Eadric had slit his throat. No one—except for River and Eadric—knew about it, and Servos intended to keep it that way. Only when his reflection was impassive did he exit the bathroom.

Jalia was acting something out for Estrella who was grinning. Though her aquamarine-accented hair was pulled back in a ponytail, a few loose curls framed Jalia's soft features. She was objectively beautiful, but she had the build and attitude of a soldier.

Jalia no longer lived in the house, but she knew she was welcome to visit any time—as everyone in the pack was. She and Dracen, her six-year old step-brother, moved into one of the few two bedroom apartments in the beginning of July. The third bedroom in his house now belonged to Felicia—though she wasn’t the only orphan in the pack. Miyako Misaki, a tanuki shifter, was parentless as well, but she was being cared for by Pratima Liese, a woman with the patience of a saint.

Standing beside Jalia was a portly man with hair grey from age. His small spectacles were held up by a round and prominent nose. Winston Wallace looked as if he played Santa Clause every Christmas and  _ enjoyed it _ —which was fitting since the man adored tinkering with toys and other gadgets. As usual, he smelled faintly of popcorn, a scent Servos learned had to do with the elder man’s animal form. He was a binturong, a member of the civet family that was more commonly known as a bearcat. Because he was constantly smiling behind his impressive mustache, Servos immediately noticed the frown that creased his features when their eyes met.

“Alpha,” Winston greeted him. 

Though Servos once rebelled against the title, he had reluctantly accepted it. He still didn’t care for it, but he’d long since given up on what he’d learned was a minor battle in the grand scheme of things. “Winston. Jalia. What can I do for you?” 

Winston moved first, unraveling the small cloth bundle in his hand and revealing a little musical jewelry box. “For Miss Felicia, as you requested. If it’s not what you’re looking for, I have a few others I could fix up.”

He opened the opal colored box, sending the mini ballerina inside into motion. She twirled in her little pink dress to a sweet, soothing tune with her arms arched above her. Her medium-brown skin—nearly identical to Felicia’s—was striking against the coral colored interior that was filled with little compartments for jewelry.

It was exactly what he was looking for.

“It’s exceptional,” he said. Felicia had been a dancer before her father’s death, but she hadn’t danced (according to Estella) since that traumatic day. He wanted her to have something nice for her twelfth birthday, which was coming up soon, the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. “Were you able to enchant it?”

Winston smiled and showed him a button on the bottom of the box. When he pressed it, the little ballerina came to life, dancing in earnest to the music. Felicia, who was not a sorcerer, might find the lively inanimate object intimidating at first, but he had a feeling she would adore it. 

“How much do I owe you?”

Winston looked uncomfortable. “It’s no trouble, alpha.”

“Nonsense. You’re trying to restart your business. You can’t do that if you give away your services for free.” First, he would try logic. Then he would just order the man to name a price. He really didn’t have patience tonight.

Winston relented. “Fifty would be more than generous.”

Servos rather thought the box was worth more. Not to mention the labor fee for the time he spent fixing it. “I’ll get you the money tomorrow.”

Winston rewrapped the little box and set it on the table with a smile. “Do let me know how Miss Felicia likes it.”

“I will.”

With their business concluded, Winston excused himself, leaving Servos alone with Jalia and Estella.

Estella looked between them awkwardly. “I gotta go start my project. Bye, Uncle! See yah, Jalia!” She was out the door before he could lecture her about using Jalia’s first name.

Almost as if she read his mind, Jalia said, “I told her she could call me that.”

“Oh, yes,” Servos replied sarcastically. “Do encourage my niece to disregard manners when addressing authority figures.”

Jalia rolled her jade green eyes. “If I’m an authority figure, we’re all doomed.”

“At last. We agree on something.”

She gave him a hurt look he knew was fake. “I can tell when I’m not wanted. See you around, your alphaness.” After swiping an apple from the fruit basket on the table, she left.

_ Alone at last.  _

Picking up the ice cream Estella had left sitting out, he headed to the kitchen and paused as his eyes identified something new in his environment. There was a piece of paper stuck to the fridge with a magnetic advertisement for the closest pizza shop. It was a crayon drawing. A black mass with amber eyes stood in the middle, something akin to wings spread wide. To his left was a white feline with stripes, and to his right was a red and black canine—a fox. River and Reginald. A spotted feline stood beside River—Jalia—with a small cub of the same design whom Servos assumed was Dracen, the likely artist behind the picture. Estella stood beside Reginald as a russet wolf. To her right was Felicia in otter form.

It was far from the entire pack, but it was the core group that Dracen was exposed to each full moon. Servos’ first instinct was to take it down, uneasy at seeing any sort of depiction of his animal form in open view, but he quickly dismissed the urge. If anyone entered his house that he didn’t trust to see it, he’d have bigger issues than a child’s drawing. Besides, it could be written off as the product of a boy’s imagination.

So, leaving it where it was, he put away the ice cream and headed to the laboratory to brew for the night—one of the few ways he could fully occupy his mind. When ten o’clock came, he cleaned up and checked in on Felicia and Estella (both of whom were sleeping) before taking a sleeping aid and going to bed.

He dreamed of fingertips bruising his hips, jeering taunts, and pain. 


	3. Chapter 2

Servos was in the middle of cooking pancake number eight the next morning when Jalia entered through the sliding glass door, and Dracen took a seat in the dining room. When one came, more were sure to follow, so he pointed to the potato bin. “Peel.”

Jalia grinned. “Sure thing, boss.”

When they'd first met, Jalia avoided kitchen duty at all costs. Today, she elbowed past him playfully and got to work. Dracen was too young to help, so Servos let him be. Natalya, however, was given sausage duty when she sauntered in. 

Though even more of a warrior than Jalia, Natalya knew her way around a kitchen—as if she was used to fending for herself in every aspect of her life. She looked as tough as she was, as if her appearance was an armor for everyday life. Piercings lined her ears, and her torn jeans were shamelessly stained and worn.  She had black hair with platinum ends, and she kept it spiked in a mohawk most days.

“Add more brown sugar,” he told her, watching as she seasoned the meat. 

Natalya did so but not without commentary. “Don't you just love a man that knows his way around a kitchen,” she said with a predatory smile, glancing in Servos’ direction. 

Jalia grinned. “He bakes too.”

Servos grimaced at the memory of trying to recreate one of his sister's cookie recipes. Selena had always intended to write them down, but she'd never gotten around to it before she passed. Now, most of their family recipes were lost—buried with his mother and sister. The cookies he and Estrella had made were alright, but they were subpar compared to what his niece was used to. 

It was just another inadequacy to add to the list. 

Natalya feigned surprise. “Really? Handsome  _ and _ good with sweets? Be still my heart.” 

Servos continued to ignore them. This was a game they played quite often—seeing how far they could push before they got a reaction out of their target. Today,  _ he _ was that target, and he knew from experience that ignoring them was really the only route. 

“Yanno,” Natalya continued. “I’ve heard men that don’t adhere to social norms are very generous in the bedroom.”

Servos debated the merits of flexing his alpha status and ordering them to be quiet. 

Thankfully, Reginald Roux chose that moment to enter the room and made the mistake of laughing at Natalya's comment. 

She rounded on him with narrowed eyes. “What’s funny, foxy? You think a man shouldn’t be generous in bed?”

“I, uh—” 

Leaving Reginald to flounder, Servos tossed another pancake onto the pile and caught Dracen frowning at the adults’ conversation. He returned to coloring after a moment, thankfully dismissing the topic he didn’t understand. Servos had lectured Natalya about her language around the children, but she seemed incapable of being PG for long. 

“Dracen. Go wake up Estella and Felicia,” he said, getting the boy away from the adult conversation.

Dracen promptly slid to the ground to do so as he was told.

Crisis averted, Servos returned his attention to cooking. At least he would have if Reginald hadn’t chosen that moment to give Servos a pleading look .Taking pity on him, Servos cut through the conversation. “Reginald, have you seen River this morning?”

Natalya quieted, letting her alpha conduct business.

Reginald's relief was transparent. Despite that he was as much of a blueblood as Eadric, the two were nothing like. Reginald inherited most of his looks from his Japanese mother (apart from his oceanic eyes), but it wasn't just their features that distinguished them. Where Eadric was calculatingly cool and imperious in almost every situation, Reginald was expressive and malleable. As the second son of a Founding Fifteen family, albeit one that had far less power than the Tyrans did these days, he wasn't as involved in politics as his brother was. 

Which benefited Servos who had come to depend on him. 

Reginald ran a hand through his short, black hair. “No. Should I go find him?”

Servos expected that answer. He knew River had moved out of Reginald’s apartment and into the complex three months ago, but the question had ended the Natalya's teasing and thus served its purpose. “That won't be necessary,” he replied.

Chatter resumed, and Servos was able to finish cooking in peace. By the time breakfast was done being made, Estrella and Felicia had joined them.

Felicia’s sable hair looked especially frizzy after just waking up. She was a little thing, thin and just a few inches taller than Estella. Toffee eyes, far lighter in color than her skin tone, watched him with apprehension. Even after all this time, she was hesitant—as if afraid that the moment she felt comfortable, she would be sent away. Servos didn't know how to help her apart from continuing to show patience and acceptance, but he was clearly out of his league. 

Felicia's gasp made him tense until he saw what had caught her attention. River, in white tiger form, sat outside the sliding glass door, tail flicking waiting for someone to let him inside. It didn't surprise him that Felicia was the one to rush over to do so because River was well liked by children, but it would be dishonest to say he wasn't jealous of River's gift with youngsters. 

River sauntered in, chuffed a greeting to Felicia, and nuzzled against her hip as he passed before pausing in front of Servos. 

He raised a brow down at the passive feline. “If you stay in that form, expect to be fed from a bowl.”

The sound River made in response was indecipherable (perhaps because it was indifferent), but he didn't shift. So, that was the end of that. 

Servos made good on his threat, and after having Jalia put down a bowl for the weretiger, they set the dining room table. As they ate, he watched Estella whisper to Felicia and make the shy girl grin, Dracen scowl at Jalia’s attempts to get him to eat food other than sausages, and Natalya wink at Reginald when she caught him staring.

All in all, a normal day. 

When the kitchen was cleaned up and everyone had departed, Servos decided he would personally chaperone the girls’ trip to the bookstore. When he informed Estella, she rewarded him with an excited smile, and he knew that he’d made the right choice. 

They set out at noon. As much as he wanted to keep a close eye on the girls, especially because Estella was a known werewolf, he resisted the urge once they arrived at the store. Hovering wouldn’t benefit them, wouldn’t help them grow. 

Though the front window proudly displayed new releases, he knew the store resold used books as well. A large table was placed fifteen feet inside the doorway, filled with catchy titles and classic novels. Freshly baked muffins, scones, and chocolate filled the air, but it was coffee that caught his attention.

Estella and Felicia stilled, likely smelling the sweets. As a wolf, his niece possessed a far better sense of smell than he, and although she was still learning to use it, the scents were highly concentrated in the small shop and impossible not to notice. 

He gave them both a one book limit and let them browse while he searched the potion texts. When he found one that looked appealing, he bought a coffee from the café and settled down to preview the first chapter. Fifteen minutes later, after exchanging the book for a better one, he bought three muffins and sat down again to wait for the girls to find him. Thirteen pages into the book he felt eyes upon him. A quick glance told him it was Felicia, but he didn’t react. He had to let her come to him on her own time. 

Estella plopped down in the seat across from him, slamming a large book on the table. Only then did Felicia sit, and he gestured for them to take a muffin. Felicia let Estella take one first, and while they were both enjoying their treats, he took inventory of what they had chosen. Estella had picked a fictional novel geared towards young adults, and Felicia had selected a collection of poems whose authors varied from Robert Frost to Maya Angelou.

“A good find,” he commented.

Felicia ducked her head at the compliment but gave him a small smile.

“And what’s yours about?” he asked Estella.

She shrugged, failing to hide her embarrassment. “It’s just some post-apocalyptic-teen-saves-the-world book. Nothing special. Anyway, I’m gonna get a cup of water.”

As she stood, Servos spotted something protruding from her jacket pocket—the russet head of some stuffed animal. Before he had time to wonder where she’d gotten it from, a fellow patron reached out and grabbed Estella by the elbow.

Servos was on his feet and stepping towards the man who was towering menacingly over his niece in the blink of an eye. Felicia fled from the confrontation, back pressed against the closest shelves of books with her arms wrapped around herself. 

He had no time to comfort her. “Remove your hand from my niece.”

Estella glared defiantly up at the man. He could see her fighting her wolf and worried any moment her eyes would turn amber. Luckily, the large man was staring at Servos. Apparently, he was smart enough to recognize a true threat from a _child_.

“She stole that toy in her pocket.” Outrage colored the man's rotund face. “You’ve no right to bring one of her kind in here. She’s a no good animal. Takin’ from folks tryin’ to make an honest living.”

Hurt flashed across Estella’s face, and Servos resisted the urge to punch the man in the throat. Killing fellow citizens for being bigots would not set a good example to the children. Nor would it endear shifters to the public. 

Silently, Servos continued to glare at the man until he eventually caught the hint and released Estella.

She hurried behind Servos and scowled at the man from behind the safety of her uncle. 

He glanced at her. “Estella?” 

For everyone's safety, they had to address the man's ridiculous accusation. Did the bookstore even sell toys? Perhaps in the children’s section. He didn’t believe for a moment that she’d stolen one, though it looked suspicious that it was hidden in her pocket.

She pulled a stuffed wolf out of her pocket. Six inches tall, it had blue eyes, russet fur, and a cream-colored belly. “Iden gave it to me.”

Servos couldn’t have asked for a better answer. With vicious satisfaction, he turned back to the man with raised eyebrows. “Iden Tyran gave it to her. Shall we call his father to verify?” Servos reached for his cell phone. It was worth purchasing one just to see the way the man paled at the mention of Eadric Tyran. 

“No,” he grunted and took a seat without further protest.

This wasn’t the first time Servos had used the Tyran name for his benefit, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. He abhorred doing it for his own gain but to protect Estella? To protect Estella he would wield the Tyran name as a shield every moment of every day. That was the point of Eadric sponsoring her, after all. 

He waited for the girls to gather their things, purchased them, and herded them home on high alert. Normally he wouldn’t let anyone chase him off, but the girls were clearly uncomfortable remaining. It was their welfare, not his pride, that he was most concerned with. 

The walk home seemed to take longer than normal, but he knew hyper vigilance was the cause. As they reached the driveway, his phone rang. The screen told him who it was, but he couldn't fathom why Reginald was calling him. Was there a problem with one of the orders at the shop? 

“Yes?” he answered. 

“There’s a werebear on a rampage down here.”

The gryphon flexed its claws inside of him. Finally. A problem that could be solved with violence. He had a reservoir of anger to work off. 

“You’re at the shop?” As he asked, he gestured for the girls to go into the house. 

Estella stubbornly refused to move, and Felicia stayed at her side. 

“Yeah,” Reginald replied. 

“Go inside,” he told the girls, his tone leaving no room for argument. They finally obeyed, but he could see Estella's reluctance. 

As they disappeared inside, Jalia came out and jogged over. He didn’t bother relaying the conversation to her. Shifters had excellent hearing.

“What do you want us to do?” Reginald asked. 

If River took action, he would oust himself. Reginald was half-human and had been raised as a sorcerer, but no one would ever mistake River for anything other than a shifter. The man moved with the lethal grace of his feline form. There was a good reason River was confined to working in the backroom of the potions shop—apart from his feral social skills.

As for Reginald, well, Servos wasn't certain he was a match for a werebear. Servos couldn't risk revealing himself either, but this was what he’d signed up for when he agreed to be an alpha. An alpha took responsibility; an alpha took action. 

“Do nothing. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Jalia’s eyes met his as he hung up.

“Stay here with the girls,” he said curtly.

“While you go off alone?” Her tone let him know just how stupid she thought that was. “Let me come with. You need someone to watch your back.”

He paused and considered her offer. Jalia would be an asset in any battle—they both knew it—but a werebear in downtown Tarnov was going to attract attention. He wouldn’t risk exposing her or anyone else. Without further argument, he teleported away.

  
  
  
  


He appeared in the backroom of his shop in downtown Tarnov—a large area with dozens of shelves on one side and a brewing station on the other. 

River jerked at his sudden entrance, still not used to teleportation—a sorcerer's primary method of traveling long distances quickly, if they were skilled enough to do it. Despite being one of the deadliest shifters in the pack, River was, quite frankly, pretty. His crystal blue eyes combined with his thick, blond hair that hung to his shoulders often led others to underestimate him—until they found themselves on the business end of his claws. The weretiger was head of security of the pack for a reason. 

As soon as he recognized Servos, he relaxed and slipped his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans. When River had come to them, he'd been wiry, but today a loose fitting t-shirt hid his burly form built from a steady diet. 

Ignoring the weretiger, Servos stormed out of the backroom and up to his business partner, Reginald. “Where is it?” Hurried by the screams outside, he strolled to the front door. Some patrons cowered behind the shelves in his shop, but he paid them no mind. They were far safer inside than outside. 

Reginald followed on his heels, gesturing to the left. “Last I saw, he went that way.”

Servos wrenched the door open and stepped onto the sidewalk. Fleeing sorcerers confirmed the werebear's location. 

“Is Enforcement here yet?” he asked, assessing his options. 

Enforcement’s prejudice regarding his kind was no secret. Normally shifters fell outside their jurisdiction, but when the crime involved a sorcerer in any way, they claimed dominion over it. 

“Not that I saw.”

“Good. Stay inside.”

Reginald nodded, and as soon as he closed the shop door, Servos hurried towards the commotion. He was the only one suicidal enough to be sprinting  _ towards _ the bear. Other citizens fled down the street, but running from a predator was never smart. Didn’t they realize they were better off hiding? Shifters had sharp senses, but a rampaging one wasn't thinking clearly enough to use them in the heat of the moment.

It was early afternoon, and many of the shops had neon signs announcing that they were open. Those that couldn't flee were likely hiding in those shops, and that meant Servos would need to lead the bear away if he couldn’t neutralize it quickly. His priority was to prevent casualties.

What was a werebear even doing in downtown Tarnov?

He dismissed the question. 

_ Kill it first. Ask questions later. _

It might not seem fair, but their world was a ruthless one. Shifters had enough prejudice to endure without morons rampaging through the streets. No alpha could allow such a violent rogue in their territory. Though he was a shifter, he was also here as a citizen of Tarnov—a city he had called home for nearly twenty years. 

When he rounded the corner, he paused to take in the scene.

A sob amidst the screams caught his attention.

A woman clutched a bleeding man, and a colossal polar bear was advancing on them, drool dripping from its lips in globs. Across the street, another sorcerer was trying to stop the bear—his wand shooting spell after spell. This man clearly didn’t have combat training. His courage was admirable, but he was getting nowhere. Without aid, the bear would kill the couple and then kill him. 

Deciding to stick to human form, Servos jumped into battle. The ideal outcome would be to bring down the bear without revealing what he was. Being discovered as a shifter would be tough, but having someone discover that he was a gryphon—a magical creature believed to be extinct for centuries—would be a nightmare.

“Over here!” he shouted, trying to snatch the bear’s attention. 

It paid him no mind, so he whipped a throwing knife at the bear’s meaty shoulder. The beast roared and rounded on him, immediately standing on its hind legs. Crimson trailed down its pristine white hide, but it didn’t seem to notice the wound. Ice blue eyes—intelligence clouded with rage—sized him up.

_ That’s right. Pay attention to me. _

The opportunity too great to pass up, he whipped a throwing knife at its exposed throat, but the blade only grazed the top of its head because it dropped down to all fours to charge him.

_ His _ head, Servos amended, wishing he hadn’t noticed that detail. 

At well over a thousand pounds of enraged muscle, the werebear had the size advantage. Servos was counting on having better stamina and speed, but they had witnesses. Too much stamina and too much speed could be revealing. 

He twisted out of the way as gaping jaws narrowly missed his skull, and he tripped on the cobblestone as he dodged the bear’s swipe but managed to remain on his feet. With little time to recover, he was forced to jump back to avoid a swiping paw. 

This battle was getting deadlier by the second. What Servos really wanted to do was grow his talons and wings. The gryphon within was furious at having to hold back, but he settled for summoning a knife back to his hand and burying it deep in the bear’s neck with a precise shot.

The werebear charged forward once more. He dodged once more, moving quickly behind his foe to escape those crushing jaws. Then, he pulled the water up from within the street drain, sent it crashing over the bear's back paws, and froze it. As the werebear struggled against the ice, roaring his fury, Servos recalled his knives and prepared to finish the battle. 

“Stand down!”

_ Damn. _

Servos immediately raised his hands in surrender, backing up as Enforcement agents swarmed the scene. His animal snarled possessively in his head. As alpha, the kill belonged to  _ him _ , but they had no idea that a pack of shifters lived under their noses or that he was an alpha. 

He watched spell after spell lacerated the bear's neck. Shifters could regenerate, but severing the struggling creature’s head did the trick. 

Servos turned away from the gore long before they finished killing the bear. Violence didn't bother him, but taking pleasure in it was disgusting. 

Aside from Enforcement, the couple, and Servos, the street was empty. His blood boiled at seeing the woman being forced away from the fallen man, crimson pooling on the cobblestone beneath him from a deep gut wound. Servos didn’t care for their treatment of the woman, but his concern was the man. Three Enforcement agents were gathered around him, and the reason for their hesitation was clear. The gut wound was clearly from a bite. Even if the man survived, he would be infected—would be condemned to a hard life. 

_ Not my circus, not my polar bear. _

He held out a record-breaking five seconds before he took action.

Kneeling at the man’s side, he peeled back the blood-saturated shirt to inspect the wound. The man’s terrified azure eyes watched him as he worked. Servos was aware of the Enforcement agents scrutinizing his every move, but he blocked them out and used a lifetime of conditioning to remain composed. Cloaked in calm, Servos did note that although the wound was bleeding profusely, his organs seemed intact. He was no doctor, but even he knew bleeding out was the man’s immediate concern.

His first reaction was to use his shirt to contain the bleeding, though it would be far from the most sanitary solution—and each second he wasted debating his options might mean the man’s death.

Would he trade his secret for the life of a stranger? For an intangible face in a crowd? No. For a man that was bleeding to death before him? In a heartbeat.

Selena would be disappointed that he’d hesitated for as long as he did.

Casting a concealment charm on the rings of black feathers on his wrists—hiding them from view—he tore his shirt off and pressed it to the wound. It wouldn’t be enough, but it was a start. Applying firm pressure, he met the man’s eyes and said, “You’ll be fine.”

Of course, fine was a relative term, wasn’t it? If the stranger was now infected by the werebear, turned into one of the creatures that had nearly killed him, would he consider that  _ fine _ ? Or would he rather die here and now? 

Looking over his shoulder, Servos leered at the Enforcement agents. “He needs medical attention  _ now _ !” he snarled at them. 

The wounded man reached out and grabbed his wrist, pleading with his eyes—and breaking the concealment charm on his feathers. 

One agent—bald, middle-aged, and stinking of cigars—reacted first. He turned his wand on Servos, ordering a female agent to call the medics. Relieved though Servos was, he didn’t stop compressing the wound until two healers were teleported onto the scene. He only allowed himself to be pulled away when emergency personnel came to take over. 

It required every ounce of control he had not to lash out when he was forced face-first into the street, his cheek colliding so hard against the cobblestone that he knew it would bruise. Memories clawed at him, nearly sending him over the edge. Cold anxiety flooded his body. The voices around him seemed so distant, and he struggled to catch his breath. 

His arms were wrenched behind his back, and he didn’t bother resisting when he was handcuffed. The knee at his back finally withdrew, and he was pulled to his feet. Once standing, the panic attack gradually receded.

They teleported him away without a word. 


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for depictions of torture. <3 Nothing too graphic.

Though he’d never set foot inside of it, Servos knew they'd brought him to Enforcement's downtown headquarters, and he was whisked through its halls in silence. Counting the turns (five in total) was second nature, and soon he was shoved into an interview room. 

He made sure not to move a muscle as the agent went through his pockets, retrieving his wallet and cell phone before he was forced into a seat. The handcuffs were rearranged and secured to a metallic table that was, in turn, bolted to the floor. Then, the bald man who guided him to the room removed Servos’ faux magical focus—an onyx ring—and left without a word. 

Once alone, Servos inspected his restraints. Though the inside of the handcuffs were padded, he could tell the metal was veined with silver. The precious metal was known to be magically resistant, making it ideal for restraining suspect sorcerers in addition to shifters, whom it burned. 

It wasn’t technically illegal for shifters to call Tarnov home, but he knew that technicality wouldn't help him. Sorcerers simply didn't want shifters in or around their settlements, thus the law offered them no protection. Apart from the open prejudice they faced, shifters weren’t allowed to attend Styx Academy, buy property in Tarnov, or work for the government. None of those issues applied to Servos. He’d graduated long ago, had a home that he had inherited, and he was self-employed. 

Servos supposed it  _ was _ possible that they suspected him of being in league with the werebear (despite evidence to the contrary), but he had a difficult time believing they were that incompetent. He’d helped take the rogue down  _ in front of them. _

Pondering their intentions was useless, but it was the only thing occupying his time. There was no clock in the room, but he supposed an hour or more had passed before the door opened again, revealing the same bald agent from earlier. He held the door open for a man that's appearance was the textbook definition of average: height, features, haircut. He had a face no one could pick out of a crowd. Everything from his glasses to his pleasant smile was part of a carefully crafted disguise.  _ Don't focus on me; I'm no threat _ . 

One of the things Servos had once disliked most about being a shifter was how much emphasis was put on hierarchy and posturing—until he'd begun to realize that humans did it as well. They just weren't as aware of it. After observing the way they entered the room, his gryphon was easily able to pick up on the subtle signals that indicated that the smaller man was leading the show. 

Agent Glasses pretended to be studying the file he'd place on the table, leaving Baldie to begin. 

“Servos Roesch? I’m Agent Brogan, and this is Agent Sterling.” 

Should he be impressed that they had raided his wallet to get his name? “Charmed.”

Brogan didn’t like that response. It showed in his heat-filled eyes and clenched jaw. Sterling, however, never lost his smile. “What were you doing downtown this afternoon?”

Biting back a sarcastic reply, Servos considered his options. Any idiot could look up his name and find out his name, business, and address, so it was safe to assume they had that information already. “I was working. I co-own Roesch’s Potions and Herbs.”

Brogan’s lips twitched into a sneer, as if the idea of a shifter owning anything was unfathomably disgusting. 

_ If only he knew what others rights me and mine are enjoying. The poor racist would have a rage-induced heart attack.  _

“Witnesses say you ran  _ toward _ the werebear,” Brogan said.

When Servos didn’t respond, Brogan leered. 

“Forgive me. Was that a question?”

Face red with rage, Brogan snarled, “No one else ran towards it. So, did you know the beast?”

“Not until he started tearing apart Sixth Street.”

“Then how did you know where to be and when to be there?”

“The screaming gave it away.”

Brogan had his wand out and pointed at Servos in the blink of an eye. 

Servos saw it in his mind's eye—how easy it would be to disarm the agent, take out the other one, and leave. Unfortunately, that was  _ not _ how one proved they were a respectable citizen of Tarnov. Not to mention that he couldn’t give away his unprecedented ability to use magic without a focus. They’d taken his, assuming they’d disarmed him. 

How wrong they were. 

Agent Sterling took control of the situation. “You can see how it’s a little suspicious that you were on the scene so quickly, right?” 

His gentle tone nearly gave Servos whiplash, but he wasn’t falling for the good-cop-bad-cop routine. He would  _ not _ be divulging who had alerted him to the situation. “I suppose anything can be construed as suspicious when you’re paranoid, but I didn’t know it was a crime to be more competent than Enforcement.”

Brogan looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. 

Servos merely leaned backward as much as the handcuffs allowed, trying to appear relaxed. Though still shirtless—his scars and brand visible for all to see—he didn’t let his discomfort show. It simply wasn’t possible they hadn’t noticed the Tyran family crest branded into the back of his shoulder, but like hell he was going to be the one to address it. He didn’t need Eadric’s help, which was exactly what bringing attention to the brand would do. It might take him longer to get this sorted out on his own, but with enough patience, he figured he could do it. After all, he did nothing wrong, and he had no criminal record. Reginald or River would watch Estella and Felicia until he returned, and although he knew he should inform the pack of what was happening with telepathy, he waited. There was no reason to panic them into needless action. 

Agent Sterling broke the silence. “Servos—”

“Mr. Roesch is fine.” Being contrary for the sake of being contrary wasn’t wise, but it made Agent Brogan grind his teeth again. It must be killing him, having to interrogate an _animal_ without force _._ Come to think of it, why _weren’t_ they using force? Were they truly _that_ intimidated by the Tyran name, by the brand on his back? 

Still smiling, Sterling said, “Mr. Roesch, your cooperation with this investigation has been noted. We just have a few more questions. It says here that Eva Roesch adopted you at age nine. You adopted her granddaughter, in turn, this past June. Correct?”

Annoyance shifted to dread. “Yes.”

“Mr. Roesch, you’re aware that under Tarnov law, shifters can’t adopt children, correct?”

Servos stilled at the unspoken threat, icy trepidation crawling up his spine. “I’m fifty percent sorcerer, and I have every right to adopt my  _ niece _ .” 

“Even if we could take your heritage into consideration, would you be able to produce documentation to prove it?”

Servos glared in response. He had no idea who his sorcerer father was, and his gryphon mother was more likely to deny knowing him than provide evidence—should he desire to venture to his homeland to find her. Even if the agents were inclined to listen to her, which they wouldn’t be, it wouldn’t matter. The more he thought about it, the more he realized it was an empty threat. “She’s being sponsored by Eadric Tyran. If you have an issue with who her guardian is, take it up with him.”

The Tyran name—Servos’ golden ticket. 

_ Fuck you wherever you are, Eadric.  _

The practice of binding shifters and lesser sorcerers to ancient family lines was nowhere near as common these days, but it was still a respected tradition. No one would challenge Eadric’s authority over Estella. That was why Servos had allowed him to sponsor her in the first place. 

“What might be a waste of the court’s time can still bring you considerable distress, Mr. Roesch,” Sterling said with false sympathy. “Your niece may have to be removed from your home until the matter is cleared up.”

It took a few breaths to reassemble his calm facade while he reminded himself that she would never be placed into foster care in Tarnov. They didn’t deal with shifters. Not only that, but she belonged to the Tyran family. If she was ever removed from Servos’ care, Eadric would have the option of deciding her residence. Eadric had hurt Servos, but he had  _ never  _ faltered in his contractual duty to Estella. 

“No one wants to uproot a pup—oh, excuse me—a girl from her home needlessly.” Sterling smiled, but this time there was a hint of the man he was underneath: a petty and prejudiced bastard. “So we’re going to ask you a few questions. Thank you in advance for your compliance. Were you bitten or born?”

It was none of their business, but there was no denying that they knew what he was. Humans didn’t have feathers growing from their skin. The threat to Estella had been clear, so although he knew she would be safe in the end, he would spare her the hassle. Servos would have liked nothing more than to tell them to fuck off, but he complied and answered, “Born.”

Admitting these things about himself went against everything he’d worked to build every day of his life. Since becoming an alpha, he’d known this moment would come. He’d made the choice to step up months ago, and he would not back down now.

He would not run from the consequences of his choice. 

Sterling marked something down while Brogan watched him like he expected Servos shift at any moment. “And how long have you been marked by the Tyrans?”

“The exact age escapes me.” A lie. He’d  _ never  _ forget that day. 

“An approximate age?”

“Mid-teens.”

“And Eadric Tyran is your master?”

Servos paused on the threshold of a defining moment. Claiming Eadric as his master could have devastating repercussions. His pack would not take kindly to the idea that a sorcerer owned him, even if it was just a lie to protect them. Some would understand—Reginald, River, and perhaps even Jalia—but the others had less of a reason to trust him.

There was a lot to consider. It not only affected him and his pack, but it affected Eadric and his campaign. Confirming or denying it right now would be a mistake, so he said, “I’ve been ordered not to answer that question.” 

Sterling wrote something down as Brogan stood and unlocked Servos’ handcuffs from the table without a word.

“Am I free to leave?” he asked, but he had a feeling he already knew the answer.

“Unfortunately, until this has all been cleared up, you’ll be our guest,” Sterling said.

“You can’t keep me here indefinitely,” Servos growled as Brogan led him from the room. 

“We can’t keep a  _ sorcerer  _ here indefinitely. You aren’t one according to the law.”

Brogan laughed, and when they reached their destination, he shoved Servos into a dark room. 

He stumbled, caught himself, and turned to face them, expecting to have the handcuffs removed.

Sterling only smiled. “You should also know that we are obligated to inform Lord Tyran that we have his charge in custody, but there’re mix-ups all the time. I could have sworn I told Kalani to call, but I just can’t remember...”

Then, Brogan slammed and locked the steel door, and Servos was alone. The room was less than ten feet by ten feet with only a metal cot, a toilet, and a sink. A tiny, dim light hung from the middle of the ceiling, and within seconds, Servos was choking on the deplorable stench. It was layers of bleach, dried blood, and stale excrement. Water dripped from the faucet into the sink every few seconds, and the quiet emptiness of the room only amplified the sound, feeding his agitation. 

_ Drip. _

_ Drip.  _

_ Drip. _

He sat on the cold metal cot, closed his eyes, and tried to meditate to pass the time. Even with the wards designed to hold sorcerers in cells like this, he was willing to bet he could escape. That wasn’t an option he was currently considering, however, because by their own admission, they’d contacted Eadric. Servos was more than fifty percent sure Eadric would come for him—if only to gloat and hold it over his head. 

_ What a wonderful friendship we have.  _

Pushing Eadric from his mind, he tried to puzzle out the day’s events, specifically wondering why a werebear had attacked downtown Tarnov in the first place. The rogue hadn’t targeted a specific building or sorcerer, so it couldn’t be an act of revenge. He’d simply rampaged through the city, mauling indiscriminately. More than anything, the attack seemed designed to cause mass hysteria. Was it a coincidence that it happened during a pivotal political time? 

Time seemed to crawl by. He wasn’t capable of sleeping in an unfamiliar place while surrounded by enemies, so he didn’t even try. Letting his guard down was out of the question. So, although he loathed to worry her, he knew it was time to contact his niece—the only member of the pack that could speak back to him because of their close relationship.

_ Estella, _ he began simply to get her attention.

_ Uncle!  _ She replied, loud and clear. __

_ Tell the others I’ve been delayed, but I’ll be home soon.  _ Or so he hoped.

_ You’re okay? _

_ I am. Is Reginald over?  _ River might be more dominant, but Reginald had the leadership skills necessary to hold things together until he returned.

_ Yeah. It’s a little crowded at the house right now. _

Servos could imagine. The pack must be up in arms over a rogue shifter in their territory.

_ Remind him that he’s in charge until I’m back. _

_ Okay.  _ She paused.  _ Stay safe.  _

_ I will. _

He cut off communication, now itching to get out of this cell and return home to the girls. The tiny room was starting to irritate him—something it very likely was designed to do, but he absolutely refused to start pacing. He wasn’t a caged animal, and he wouldn’t be caught acting like one. 

He began reciting the complex brewing instructions of Demeter’s Hand to distract him from the endless waiting game. It was likely no one would be coming back soon.

_ Begin with 20 ounces of water. Bring to a boil and reduce to a simmer. Add one gram of dried Ginseng in one fourth gram intervals, stirring clockwise five times after each portion…. _

While in the middle of reciting the instructions for the third time, the  _ clink _ of the lock warmed him that he was about to have a visitor, but he didn’t look towards the door. Instead, he took a deep breath, analyzing the scents of the sorcerers who’d come to see him. A man and a woman. 

“We’re here to ask you a few questions.”

Servos took the words as an invitation and glanced at the man. Though he appeared relaxed, his stiff stance and the way he kept the door in view told Servos he was a combatant of some kind. Black, oily hair clumsily hung over his smirking face. He had dark eyes and wore a simple, black suit that made him look like a well paid thug. 

The woman wore a suit of the same style—perhaps it was a uniform—and also had on a pair of black leather gloves. Her hair was the color of chocolate cherry, but her most striking feature was the tribal-style tattoo that covered the left half of her face. There was no discernable shape, just swirls that started around her eye and reached down to her jaw and up to her forehead.

These were no Enforcement agents. On the left shoulder of their suits was a clear emblem. Double stars—a smaller one dwarfed by a larger—was the symbol associated with Raghnall Dunn, the councilman who controlled the Truunpool-Kosshire territory that spanned from Texas to Idaho. 

As much as Servos hated politics, he was not ignorant. He knew the names of the councilors, where they ruled, and their stances on important affairs. Councilor Dunn’s disgust for shifters was matched only by Councilor Voclain’s, but  _ neither _ of them ruled Tarnov and had no business meddling in its affairs. So, why were Dunn’s goons here?

“Name’s Kade Hans,” the man said. His German accent might have been charming to some if not for the sadistic intent on his face. “I’m telling you that because you'll be giving your master my name.” Servos raised a brow. “Why do I feel like I’ve just walked into an abysmally scripted Nazi film?”

Hans frowned, as if he’d been expecting a different reply. “We have ways to make your kind comply. Do not make this hard for yourself.”

Servos took threats seriously, but he rarely felt fear. This was one of those rare times because it invoked a memory—the enthrallment potion that ElixCorp had invented, the one that could beguile a shifter. However, it had been outlawed for use by civilians, and its recipe was not public knowledge. He knew that because Eadric was now the majority shareholder of ElixCorp, and the first thing he’d done after taking over was enact strict measures of security. 

The unease he felt had less to do with the potion and more to do with what Pythos had done to Servos while he’d been under its influence. The beguiling portion of the potion didn’t work on him (for reasons he couldn’t determine), but the sedative portion did. 

Servos didn’t welcome the idea of being sedative and at the mercy of a sadist ever again.

“We just have a few questions. Then, we’ll be on our way.”

The woman moved, and Servos made no attempt to defend himself. He had many secrets to hide—the truth of his animal form, for one—but, most importantly, he needed to conceal the fact that he didn’t need a magical focus to harness his magic. He could not retaliate with magic without attracting more attention. 

Being ordinary was his best defense. 

Her ensnarement spell wrapped around his wrists (which were still handcuffed), and she forcefully yanked him off of the bed. His grunted as his knees hit the cold, hard floor of the cell, and he bared his teeth when she circled behind him because he was well aware of what she was looking for.

The Tyran family crest that was branded into his flesh. 

When she’d completed her round, she looked to Hans and nodded.

Hans looked at Servos. “Did you act on the orders of Lord Tyran tonight?” 

This wasn’t about Servos at all, he realized suddenly. This was about Eadric. They were gathering intelligence on a potential councilor, and Servos was caught up in the middle of it because of the damn brand on his shoulder. Despite how fucked up that was, Servos knew he would lie for the man without hesitation. He simply wasn’t sure which answer would help or hurt Eadric the most.

When he didn’t reply, the woman yanked on the invisible bindings on his wrists. He nearly fell face-first but managed to catch himself and, in retaliation, he pulled back sharply to unbalance her. 

She made a furious sound and raised her hand. 

Hans stilled her without moving a muscle. “Theda,  _ genug _ .”

His mind magic automatically translated the word— _ enough _ —and under other circumstances, he would have been pleased. He'd been working on his magic's translation abilities.

Hans looked down at him. “If his master ordered him not to answer, he will not answer. He is but a well-trained dog.”

The urge to snort was strong, but Servos stayed silent and weighed the merits of pretending to be a loyal pet of the Tyran family. On one hand, it would mean he was of value to them. On the other, they would not see  _ him _ as a threat. 

“Let’s start with a simpler question, yeah? Maybe something Tyran hasn’t forbidden you to speak about,” Hans said. “How many shifters has Lord Tyran marked?”

Was that what this was all about? Did Dunn actually think Eadric was amassing an army of shifters? Was that actually something Dunn feared? Fine. Let them waste their time chasing that theory. Eadric hadn't marked him. Eadric's  _ father  _ had. Since Hans hadn't specified  _ which _ Lord Tyran he was referring to, Servos didn't have to lie. “One.” 

“And that one is you,  _ ja _ ?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good. See? No violence needed. We don’t want violence, you don’t want violence. We’re on the same side here.”

The poor fool thought he was good at manipulation, which made Servos couldn’t help but roll his eyes. A spell cut him across his chest a moment later, and he hissed at the stinging pain. Though the laceration was deep, his body would heal it by the end of the day. 

Hans knelt. “How’s this sound? You, me, and Theda can bond for a few hours. Maybe you’ll feel more cooperative afterwards. She’s very creative. An artist. I bet you’ve never had that shapeshifter regeneration used against you, have you?”

In fact, Servos had. On more than one occasion. The first that came to mind was when Adalric Tyran had whipped his back raw, waited until it had healed, and repeated the process to make sure his point was made clear. If these goons thought they were intimidating, they were in for a rude awakening. Though it seemed that Dunn had faith in their interrogation skills, Servos was not cowed. 

He settled for saying, “Lord Tyran would not be pleased.” 

Hans shrugged. “It'll be your word against ours.”

What they didn’t know was that Eadric would believe him without question. However, he had no intention of crying to a man who was no longer speaking with him. He would get through this on his own—but was that even realistic? Though an indentured sorcerer might be looked upon as family, an indentured  _ shifter _ was little more than a servant and was treated as such. In other words, they wouldn’t be releasing Servos except into Eadric’s custody. So, there really was no reason for him to avoid contacting Eadric through their mental link. 

No reason apart from his pride.

He would not  _ beg _ to be rescued like a damsel in distress. Even if he couldn't stop the outcome, he would not not hurry it along. 

Servos saw the moment Theda decided to attack, sending a spell in his direction. He dodged it, rolling to the side and into a crouch. It was difficult to do so with his hands bound, and though he managed it, he couldn't indefinitely dodge his foes when he couldn't escape the small cell. They had a distinct advantage: he had to hold back, and they didn’t. While he could likely incapacitate them, that would lead to too many questions. Questions he could afford to have asked. 

He mentally cursed and made the choice to let Hans catch him with a binding spell. It snapped his legs together bone-crushingly tight, and Theda took advantage of his immobility to ensnare his bound wrists once more. This time, however, he didn't wait for her to pull on the invisible chord.  _ He _ pulled on them, jerking her off of her feet. His strength was superb, so rather than just fall forward, her face slammed into the ground. 

Was it wise of him to do? No, but it was worth seeing the blood trail from her nose when she looked up with a snarl. Servos didn’t bother hiding a smirk. 

Unfortunately, without using magic, he couldn't fight them forever. With his back to the wall and his legs and wrists bound, he didn't stand a chance against the simultaneous spells thrown his way. He dodged one, but the other caught him across his left shoulder, spilling blood down his chest. Theda took advantage of his divided attention. As a laceration spell from Hans that caught him across the right thigh, she tightened her hold on the ensnarement spell and jerked back. 

Servos fell forward, but before he hit the ground, another spell immobilized the muscles in his limbs. The humiliation he felt at having to let them beat him was overshadowed only by the dread that raced down his spine at being rendered helpless. There was a reason they wanted him immobile, and he knew it couldn’t be good. 

They grabbed him under his arms and dragged him, forcing him to his knees at the side of the cot. Hans grabbed the handcuffs by its chains and pulled Servos’ hands (palm down) taut and flat against the metal bed. 

This couldn’t be good. Servos growled, but that was all he could do. Meanwhile, his gryphon was hard at work, attempting to unwrap the strands of magic that had him immobilized.

Theda pulled twin daggers from her belt and, without a threat, stabbed the backs of his hands, pinning them to the cot before he could process what he was seeing. His senses blurred with agony, and for a long moment he thought he might lose consciousness. The silver in the daggers burned away at his flesh which, because of his regeneration, was furiously trying to heal itself. Again and again it grew and burned away, feeling like ants crawling inside his skin. He fought to remain awake despite the sweet, beckoning bliss blacking out promised. 

Battling desperately to breathe through the anguish, he almost missed Hans taking a seat on the cot. The vial he pulled from his pocket was only inches tall, but Servos recognized the potion within and knew it didn’t require much to be effective. Sangus’ Serum, also known commercially as a truth potion, was highly regulated by the council—both its creation and use. This was some sort of fucked up interrogation then, was it? 

“Familiar with it,  _ ja _ ? I hear you’re some sort of potions prodigy.” He glanced at Servos’ hands. “Well.  _ Were _ a potions prodigy. I just want you to know that we don’t have to hurt you to get the answers we want, but we’re going to. We need you to send a message to Lord Tyran for us, but don’t worry. It won’t require words.”

Though his limbs were useless, Servos managed to spit at Hans just fine, satisfied when it hit him between the eyes. 

“Disgusting beast!” Theda backhanded him, and while his head was reeling from the blow, pried his mouth open. 

Beaten and bleeding, but _not_ broken, Servos bit her fingers as hard as he could. 

Theda screamed and the next thing he knew, pain exploded in his right hand. His thumb. 

_ A bone breaker spell,  _ he realized belatedly, dizzy from the conglomeration of physical trauma. 

“Disgusting beast!” she spat. With her want hovering over his index finger, she leaned in to hiss. “I want you to know, vermin, why I break your right hand first. You are no sorcerer, and you do not deserve to wield magic.”

Servos was certain he’d had worse, but he could no longer muffle his anguish. He cried out with each bone she broke—the gryphon fighting to break free as she shattered the fingers of both hands one by one. 

_ Servos!  _

He hardly registered Eadric’s voice in his head at first. Fuck. he’d lost control of the bond, unable to shield his mind from Eadric’s while in the throes of agony. He had regeneration and was accustomed to pain, yes, but he was not immune to it.

_ Servos. Answer me. Now.  _

Even if he could have formed a coherent reply, he wouldn't. He refused. 

Hovering at the threshold of consciousness, he didn’t notice when the torture ceaced. He was only scarcely aware of Hans and Theda arguing in German. His mind only translated every few words because he couldn't focus. Nothing was coherent until Hans said, “We do what we came to do.  _ Now _ .”

This time, when his face was grabbed, he didn’t have the will to fight. Sangus’ Serum had no taste, but he felt three drops dissolve on his tongue before he was released. 

“What’s your name?”

Through the fog of agony, he was compelled to answer. “Servos Roesch.” At least, that was his legal surname. Sangus’ Serum couldn’t be resisted, but it could be outwitted. He was unfocused and in shock, but he did his best to misconstrue the truth. To protect his family, Eadric, and himself. 

“Did Lord Tyran ever share his reasons for wanting a seat on the council with you?”

“No.”

“Did you ever overhear him stating his reasons for wanting a seat on the council?” 

“No.”

“Had he ever expressed a desire for a seat on the council before McNeil’s death?”

“No.”

“To your knowledge, has Lord Tyran ever plotted the demise of a council member?”

Eadric had once confessed that he wanted the council disbanded—and he no doubt would use violence as necessary—but he’d never expressed an interest in personally murdering them. “No,” he managed to say.

“Did Lord Tyran have prior knowledge of McNeil’s demise?”

Not as far as Servos knew. “No.” Werewolves had killed McNeil, and the unknown mastermind called himself Wraith. He'd used shifters controlled by the enthrallment potion to do his bidding, and Pythos had worked for him. 

“Did Lord Tyran have prior knowledge of the werebear attack on Tarnov?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did Lord Tyran order you to fight the werebear?”

“No.”

Hans scoffed. “Then why did you?”

“Because Tarnov is my home.” 

That was the truth in all its simplicity. He’d done it for the pack, yes, but he’d also done it for the sorcerers who called Tarnov home. 

Theda gave a cruel laugh. “Let me cure you of your false altruism, beast.” 

When she pulled a bottle of liquid silver, panic stirred him from his agony-induced lethargy. The enthrallment potion. It had to be. He tried to struggle, but his limbs still refused to respond. 

_ No! No! No! _

It wasn’t until she lifted the bottle to his hands, not his mouth, that he realized he’d been wrong. 

It wasn’t a potion at all.

It was liquid silver.

He howled as she doused his hands—the sensation like acid burning away layers of skin and muscle. The scent of blood, silver, and charred flesh filled his nostrils, and reality came to him in waves of agony intermingled with darkness. 

He heard Theda being called away by Hans. 

He felt the daggers being ripped from his mangled flesh.

He heard the sound of the cell door opening and slamming. 

He felt himself collapse on the concrete floor, cradling his mangled hands to his chest.

Finally, darkness dragged him under completely.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been struggling with editing this lately. Editing isn't exactly the most exciting part of writing. xD I've gone back and re-edited the previous chapters because I'm picky. Enjoy, and as always please leave a comment/kudos if you're reading! :D

_ Servos!  _

A voice in his head, the dull sight of the plain ceiling, and the cold feeling of concrete at his back. That's how Servos woke. 

_ Servos!  _

The impatience in Eadric’s voice suggested that he'd been trying to reach Servos for a while, but as soon as Servos recognized his voice, he slammed the link shut and silenced the connection. 

Everything came back to him at once. 

His hands. His livelihood. He couldn't bring himself to look at the damage. 

Considering why he'd lost consciousness, he was surprised by how little he felt. Shock. His body must be in shock, numbing the pain and throwing him head-first into survival mode.

His hands needed immediate care, but there was little he could do in this cell. The longer he did  _ nothing,  _ however, the worse the long-term damage would be. A rush of dread fed adrenaline gave him the push he needed to crawl to the sink. Turning on the faucet was no easy task. He used his elbow and then hunched over the sink, holding his hands under the water to rinse away the lingering, burning traces of silver. He hissed and gritted his teeth at the renewed pain, but he knew it was necessary. 

When he could take no more, he collapsed against the wall and slid to the ground. The handcuffs had become tedious, and the consequences of appearing noncompliant were far from his mind. What more could they do to him? He snapped the chain with a single, powerful tug and shed the broken pieces. The motion sent a fresh wave of hot agony through every muscle in his shattered hands. 

He closed his eyes and focused on breathing, trying desperately to remain conscious. Only when his head no longer felt fuzzy did he inspect his hands for the first time .Though both had been shattered, his right had gotten the majority of the silver and was hideously burned—far worse than his left. It was hard not to dwell on the ramifications of the injuries. His flesh was burned beyond recognition—possibly third degree, by his judgment—and the wounds in the middle of his hands had not healed, hindered by the silver he'd been doused with. 

Time was of the essence if he had any hope of healing his hands. He needed to detoxify the silver in order to see what his natural healing could repair. Not to mention silver poisoning was a real possibility. 

The door burst open. 

Immediately on the defensive, Servos cast a concealment spell over his hands to hide the extent of his injuries (because he would not appear weak in front of his enemies), turned towards the door—and was irritated to find Eadric Tyran standing in the doorway with an unfamiliar enforcement agent behind him. It wasn't really surprising that Eadric had come given that he hated being ignored, but Servos hadn't expected him so soon. Just like that, his hope of resolving this by himself was gone. 

Was it wrong that Servos almost felt relieved? 

Eadric’s expression was impassive, but his steel gaze churned like a raging storm when their eyes met. He was dressed like he'd just come from meeting with Tarnov's elite, looking far too pristine for this dingy little cell that reeked of blood and pain. His grey-blue suit fit him snugly in all the right places, and the silver of his dragon-head cane matched his cufflinks. 

Without a word, he gave Servos a thorough inspection, pausing at every injury. 

Servos glared in response. 

Finally, without looking away, Eadric said, “Leave us.”

A man behind him bowed his head and shut the cell door.

Eadric leaned his cane against the wall, removed his black gloves, and pocketed them. “I've ensured privacy so we might speak freely.” 

“We have nothing to speak about,” Servos hissed, imprudent and irrational though it was. Here was help come and last, and he spat in its face. How could he not? He'd trusted Eadric once (as much as he could trust anyone), but now he felt the sharp sting of betrayal every time he remembered that night. Accepting aid from a friend that had drugged, assaulted, and then abandoned him—no. He had too much self-respect for that, yet how could he risk permanent damage to his hands for pride? 

Eadric expression twitched with exasperation. “Then why summon me here?” 

Servos didn't have the energy for this confrontation. The shock and adrenaline was wearing off “ _ I _ didn’t summon you,” he growled, letting anger fuel him. “Leave.”

Eadric raised a brow. “I'm almost tempted to take you up on that. To let you stay here a week and see if it teaches you gratitude.”

“ _ Gratitude?"  _ Failing to contain his outrage at Eadric’s audacity, Servos said, “For what exactly? The fools saw the brand and took the initiative of contacting you  _ without my consent. _ ”

Eadric raised a brow. “And I suppose they saw it through no fault of your own?” 

Servos only sneered. 

“Do you realize the magnitude of what you've done?” 

A mirthless laugh escaped Servos’ lips. “You think you're in a position to lecture me?” Servos did the best with what he was given, and he faced every situation like a general at war. He'd meticulously measured the consequences of being discovered _months_ _ago_. It was far from ideal, but he'd made his choice. 

“Clearly I need to because you don't seem to grasp what's happening here. You're less than an animal in their eyes, Servos. You're a slave as far as they're concerned.  _ My _ slave. Everything you think you own is now, by law, mine. Your home, your business, your  _ pattons _ —” 

With every item he listed, Eadric took a step closer until they were inches apart—so close that Servos could feel his breath on his skin. 

“—and you.”

The gryphon within stirred at having his bond mate so close, as pleased by the proximity as Servos was uneasy. 

When Eadric spoke next, it was inside his head, through the bond like a mental caress that made his gryphon purr.  _ I could take you against that wall you’re clinging to. No one would stop me. No one would challenge my right to do with my property as I see fit.  _

Heat and fear swept through him in equal parts, but Servos ignored both. “Such sweet talk.”

Eadric made an amused sound and leaned closer. “I can show you sweet.”

“Touch me and I'll cut your hand off with a paring knife.”

Though he looked far from concerned, Eadric took a step back. “You revealed yourself to kill a rogue shifter and save a complete stranger. Both of which enforcement agents could have handled. If this was all a cry for attention, it worked. Here I am.”

His tone made it perfectly clear how dangerous his attention could be, but Servos didn’t back down. Even through the throbbing agony in his hands, he was itching for a fight. “This may come as a shock,  _ Lord Tyran _ , but not everything is about you. Sometimes a rampaging werebear is just a rampaging werebear.” 

Eadric ignored him in favor of appraising the cell. “I’ll admit this room leaves much to be desired, but I’ve always had this particular fantasy.” A mischievous smirk on his face, he looked Servos over as he advanced and closed the distance to be mere inches apart. “Would you like to hear it?”

_ Yes.  _ “Not at all.”

Without further warning, Eadric was pressed against him, forcing his back to the wall, and pulling him into a deep kiss. Tongue sweeping and hand caressing the feathers at Servos’ nape. He grunted at his hands being jostled, but the sharp pain was overshadowed by the twisting need in his gut. His gryphon wanted to bask in the sun that was Eadric Tyran, to feel the pleasure he could bring. 

His hands itched to tangle themselves in Eadic’s hair as the kiss changed from tender desire to desperate—from chaste to teeth and tongue _. _ It was hard to remember why he shouldn’t want this. Especially when Eadric was fighting so unfairly, pulling back to rain intoxicating kisses along his jaw and neck. Utterly lost in sensation, Servos tilted his head to allow better access. Teeth gently scraped before pressing a kiss to the pulse in his throat. 

“We should stop,” Eadric murmured against his skin,  _ Unless you want me to take you here and now. _

It took effort not to shudder. Servos’ head and heart were in conflict. It was especially difficult when he saw how Eadric was looking at him, the desire in his eyes an aphrodisiac. 

Where the hell was his self-respect? Self-disgust returned his common sense. He tore away from Eadric who let him go without protest.

“Well, then. Shall we depart?”

Servos furrowed his brows. 

“Did I forget to mention that you’ve been released?” Eadric asked with feigned innocence. 

Oh, Servos was going to kill him. 

Eadric laughed, strolled to the door, and opened it without complications. Then, he led Servos through the station as if he owned it. A woman at the front made Eadric sign for Servos and his belongings—which was nothing short of insulting—and then they were outside. 

Servos took a deep breath, savoring the fresh air as they stood under the streetlight. The walk had sapped what little energy he had left. The pain was now at the forefront of his mind, and he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to combat it. He was good at suppressing pain, but that meant he ran the risk of overexerting himself. 

Eadric turned to face him. “Come back to the manor. We can talk over tea, and then I’ll return your—”

The rest of his words went out of focus, and it took Servos several seconds to realize it.  _ That’s not good _ . 

“What isn’t good?”

He turned his head to meet Eadric’s questioning gaze and was hit with a wall of lightheadedness. 

“Servos?”

Servos collapsed.

  
  
  
  


Distant voices pierced the thinning veil of unconscious, beckoning him to wake. The lull of sleep made his limbs heavy, and he groaned at the effort it took to open his eyes. Everything was blurry, and when he tried to sit up, pain reminded him all too quickly of why he'd lost consciousness in the first place. 

Servos sagged back into the bed, jostling the IV that had been inserted into his arm while he slept and disturbing the thin sheet that covered him up to his waist. He could tell he was wearing only underwear, but he didn’t know why. 

“We really must stop meeting like this, young man.”

Ah.

He turned to the man hovering at his side, and found Dr. Salim Basiltinni smiling back at him. He tried to muster the strength to glare at the comment, but it must not have worked because Dr. Basiltinni smiled wider. He supposed he  _ was _ young when compared to Basiltinni, who looked to be in his mid-fifties. Streaks of grey accented his black hair, contrasting agreeably with his dark skin. Despite being a licensed and skilled medmage, he always wore attire more suited to a carpenter. His preference for the informal mattered little to Servos, who had no doubt that he was the most powerful and most capable medmage that could be hired. Eadric would accept nothing less. 

As Servos struggled to gather his bearings, Basiltinni reached for his right hand. Servos snarled reflexively at the jolt of pain but was once again ignored by the medmage who took his time examining the injury.

While studying it, he spoke. “Eadric is your medical proxy, but he wanted you awake to decide how we should proceed.” He held Servos’ arm by the wrist, careful not to touch his fingers. “So far we’ve soaked your hands in a solution to neutralize the silver residue. Once we did, your fingers began to heal incorrectly. I expected that, but the silver would have killed you if left as it was.”

Until that moment, Servos had been afraid to look, but he could prolong it no more. His hands were still burned—the flesh swollen and intermingled with yellow, white, and black—but they looked marginally better. Each of his fingers was crooked, mended incorrectly by his accelerated healing. He knew the only way to remedy it before Basiltinni could explain. 

“Just do it.”

To his credit, Basiltinni didn’t need clarification. “It'll be painful.”

“I know.” 

It wasn't the pain that scared him but what awaited once his hands were healed—the severity of the damage that lingered. 

Rather than get on with the procedure, the medmage said, “Eadric will send for me when you’re ready.”

Servos wanted to protest—to say that he was ready now—but he couldn’t get the words out before Basiltinni was gone. Did that make him a coward? 

It was then that he realized where he was. Tyran manor. The room was unfamiliar at first because it had obviously been redecorated, but he recognized it all the same. The king sized mattress, positioned beside a large set of windows, had been transformed into a makeshift hospital bed. The room had the necessities—a bed, a wardrobe, a dresser, and a sitting chair—but it lacked a personal touch, so he surmised it was a guest room. 

Irrational fear swept over him, cold and merciless. Was this the same one that Pythos Amador had—? 

“Servos!”

A warm hand pressed down on his chest, acting as an anchor to reality. He suddenly found himself staring up into Eadric’s eyes, surprised to find concern there.

Before he could speak, Servos did, steering the conversation away from his obvious panic attack. He had no desire to discuss it. Especially not with Eadric. Heart still pounding, he latched onto the first distraction he could think of. “You refurnished this room.”

Eadric raised a brow, as if he couldn’t fathom why they were discussing this now. “Yes, and nearly every other room in the manor as well. Would you like a tour?” 

“Starting with the master bedroom, I presume.” The bold comment slipped out before he could still his tongue, and Servos blamed the aftershocks of his panic attack. It had clearly muddled his brain. Despite the kiss they’d shared, Eadric obviously wasn’t romantically interested in him any longer.

Wicked delight lit Eadric’s eyes. “Naturally,” he said, voice silky smooth. 

Unsettled by the look, Servos masked his unease by rolling his eyes. “Why?” 

“Why the bedroom? Well, you see, when two adults—”

“ _ Why _ did you have the manor redecorated?” Servos clarified, though they both knew Eadric had purposely misunderstood. 

“Oh, you know how it is. Once in a while you get bored and decide to have your entire manor redecorated.” 

Servos didn’t buy that excuse. Eadric had an almost cavalier attitude when it came to money, but he rarely spent without benefit. From what Servos understood, many of the furnishings in the manor were heirlooms, irreplaceable and meaningful for a man proud of his heritage. So, Eadric was lying, but why? 

He had no more time to ponder it before Eadric spoke again. “Dr. Basiltinni said your chances of recovery are high.”

Servos bristled at the optimistic assessment, offended at being offered hope when he knew there was none. With a heated glare, he said, “Basiltinni doesn’t strike me as a liar. I’m certain he said nothing of the sort.”

“Shifter regeneration is legendary. Certainly that will aid the process.”

Did he think Servos hasn't considered his body's limitations? “I think, between the two of us,  _ I _ am more qualified to judge what a shifter can and cannot heal.”

Eadric's expression remained annoyingly stoic. “Fair point, but I also think that, between the two of us, you’re exceedingly more pessimistic.”

Servos snorted. “I choose to be realistic, but if you can prove that  _ optimism  _ heals—”

“Good to know my money is being well spent. You must be on world class painkillers if you feel up to arguing in your current state.”

Finally, something they agreed on. Basiltinni likely had him on a very powerful, very special painkiller because most did not work on shifters. Still, he saw no reason to tell Eadric he was right. “You are the most irritating person I've ever met; I’ll always argue with you.”

Eadric's smile looked positively wolfish. No, that wasn't right. If Eadric were a shifter, he would be a solitary hunter, powerful and capable all on his own. A lion. “Promise?”

Servos stared, nonplussed.

That made Eadric laugh, short and breathless. “The best conquests take time and effort.” He leaned in, so close that his words were a physical caress against Servos' bare skin. “It makes the inevitable surrender all the more satisfying.”

Outrage made Servos sputter. “You—what. I— _ what _ ?”

Looking delighted, Eadric said, “At a loss for words? So unlike you.”

The taunt went unnoticed because Servos was struggling to process what Eadric was implying. “You…?”

“Suffering from aphasia? Shall I have the medmage check your head?”

“Aphasia…”

“It means—”

“I know what aphasia means!”

Eadric only smirked.

Servos bared his teeth and pointedly changed the subject. “How long was I out?” The pack had to be in chaos—even with Reginald at the helm.

“You were held at enforcement’s headquarters until well past midnight. When you passed out—”

“I did not  _ pass out _ .”

Eadric ignored him. “—I brought you here. It’s around eight in the morning now.” 

He'd lost almost eight hours, and his immediate concern was for the girls. He instinctively went to reach out to her with telepathy, but he stopped. Until he knew his prognosis, was it wise to involve her? Unsure of what the right answer was, he asked, “Has Reginald been by?” while he debated it. 

“No.”

Servos furrowed his brows. “Why not?” He couldn’t imagine Reginald or River not visiting. They were friends, weren’t they? Servos wasn’t quick to upgrade others from acquaintance to friend, but he felt Reginald and River had earned it.

“I read that when an alpha is seriously injured, it’s not uncommon for the members of a pack to use it as an opportunity to challenge them for their position.”

Did Eadric expect him to believe he was trying to protect him? More than likely, he simply didn't feel comfortable opening his doors to more shifters. “That wasn't your call to make.”

“Wasn't it?” Eadric asked, all arrogance and danger. 

Without thinking, Servos tried to push himself up, ready to fight, but was met with a fresh wave of agony. The second he cried out in pain, the door to the room opened, and Dr. Basiltinni was at his side. 

Agony clouded his perception, but when he came to, Servos realized that he was flat on his back once more and he could hear Basiltinni. “—rest. If you cannot allow him that, then you should excuse yourself.”

When he opened his eyes, he found Basiltinni was inspecting his right hand. “We should begin, Servos. I highly suggest a sedative, but the choice is yours.”

Servos nearly said yes, but even though it would help, he wanted to remain as alert and aware as possible. “No.”

Eadric made a displeased sound, but he was ignored. 

Speaking of being drugged… “What painkillers did you give me?” Servos hadn't noticed any side effects, and with the amount of injuries he had sustained in the last year, such an efficient painkiller would be useful to have on hand. 

“None. I used my magic, but it's a temporary effect. I've never done it on a shifter before. Are you feeling any side effects?” Basiltinni asked with a look of interest. 

Disappointing. Such a painkiller would have been revolutionary, especially for his kind. “No, none. Then, what’s the IV for?” 

“Fluids.”

That was perfectly logical, but if the coming procedure was as painful as he anticipated, Servos risked ripping it out. Though he was sailing dangerous waters by telling the medmage how to do his job, he said, “Take it out before we begin.” 

Basiltinni paused, considered it, and then nodded. “I'm also going to have to restrain you.”

Servos understood the precaution. Shifters were, as a rule, dangerous when seriously wounded. Just because he'd never quite lost control while in pain didn't mean he was willing to take the risk. The last thing he wanted to do was inadvertently hurt the medmage or Eadric, so he gave a terse nod. 

Basiltinni made quick work of removing the IV and then securing his limbs to the bed with magical bindings. Unable to resist, he tested the restraints but couldn't pull free. His heart was pounding, trepidation almost breathtaking, but it had nothing to do with the procedure to come and everything to do with being made helpless. 

Thankfully, Basiltinni began to explain the procedure and distracted him from his anxiety. “I'm going to numb your hands, and then my magic will help me recreate the breaks. As soon as that's done, I'll set them.” His expression turned grave. “It may take me some time. You had nineteen breaks.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eadric tense at this news, but Servos was too numb to share his reaction. Later, when everything finally processed, he'd have to deal with whatever the fuck he felt. Now, however, he only nodded—as if the med age was describing the forecast for the week. 

“Due to the complexity of the procedure, I won't have the energy to heal the breaks today, but I can return tomorrow.”

Every sorcerer had their limit. “I understand,” Servos said, ready to get it over with. 

Eadric apparently shared no such sentiment. “Won’t they heal rapidly on their own?” 

“Normally, yes, but after I use my magic to bring the shattered pieces together, I'm going to temporarily slow down his healing factor.”

Servos hadn’t been aware that medmages could do such a thing, and now that he knew, weariness whispered paranoid thoughts in the back of his mind. “Why?”

Basiltinni looked grim. “Your wounds are severe. Were you not a shifter, I would be warning you to anticipate permanent damage. Because of this, the best chance we have is if you let me heal them rather than letting nature take its course.”

A weight grew in his chest. He'd tried to prepare himself for this possibility, but having the medmage agree about the severity of the damage was devastating. 

“We won’t know if and how bad it is until your hands are healed. Both third degree burns and severe breaks can have complications, but shifters are nothing if not resilient.” 

That was true, but even shifters couldn't heal nerve damage. Servos wanted to tell him where he could shove his unwarranted optimism but refrained. 

“Does re-breaking them run the risk of further damage?” Eadric asked.

“No. Nothing I do will cause permanent harm. My magic will ensure that.” He looked back to Servos. “If you're ready to begin?”

Servos took a breath, but before he could answer, Eadric spoke, commanding and finite. 

“Sedate him.” 

The gryphon within stilled, hackles bristling. Apparently even his beast’s affection for Eadric wasn’t enough to make him comfortable.  _ You don’t get to make that decision,  _ Servos snarled, using the bond to make sure Eadric  _ felt _ his fury. 

Eadric didn’t so much as look at him. His gaze was fastened upon Basiltinni.

Servos was going to kill him. He was going to kill Eadric Tyran, and to hell with the consequences. 

“Servos doesn't want to be sedated,” Basiltinni replied diplomatically. 

“What he wants has no bearing on this conversation. He belongs to House Tyran.” 

That was the end of the argument. By law, Servos had less rights than a dog. He was property, and Basiltinni could face repercussions for refusing. Escape plans raced through his mind, but finding another medmage that would treat a shifter would take a miracle. Servos then debated telling him that he did  _ not _ belong to Eadric, but he had no idea what consequences that would unleash—if Basiltinni even believed him. So, in the end, he gritted his teeth and glared daggers at Eadric. 

_ It's for your own good,  _ Eadric said, replying at last.  _ There's no benefit to being awake. If you move during the procedure— _

_ Fuck you,  _ Servos replied. 

Eadric had the good sense not to reply. 

Just because Eadric had a point didn't mean he was right. 

“Servos.”

He turned to Basiltinni expectantly but was asleep before their eyes met. 

  
  
  
  


“Servos.” 

The world was heavy. His eyelids, his limbs, his thoughts. He wanted to wake, spurred by a sense of urgency, but opening his eyes proved impossible. 

“Servos. It’s over.” The voice paused before asking, “Why won't he wake?” 

Eadric. He remembered that he was angry with Eadric but not why.

“The spell takes time to wear off.”

Basiltinni. 

Awareness of his surroundings faded, and when he woke again, it was to Eadric's voice. “...can't leave until you wake.”

Where he was and why he was there came back piece by piece. Eadric had forcefully sedated him, and now he was nagging him for not waking up fast enough? Though groggy, he managed to mumble, “Fuck...you.” 

An amused laugh answered him. 

Servos finally pried open one eye and found Basiltinni and Eadric hovering over him. “Am I dying?” he snapped, but it came out more tired than angry. 

Basiltinni smiled. “Everything went smoothly. I've bandaged your hands, and you're to remain on bedrest until I return.”

It took effort for Servos to lift his arm and inspect his hand. All of his fingers were bound together, separated by layers of cotton and finished with a dark blue gauze. Cobalt like his feathers. 

_ Probably Eadric’s fault.  _

With that thought, his eye fell closed. He lost focus, and when he came to again, Basiltinni was telling someone, “Make sure he rests and doesn't use his hands.” A door closed, but Servos could tell he wasn’t alone. All of his senses, tired though they were, told him that Eadric was still at his side. Servos wondered how long he could feign sleep to avoid dealing with him. The alternative (going home) seemed just as exhausting. Either way, he knew peace and quiet was not in his future.

“Servos.” 

He resisted the urge to groan, reluctantly opened his eyes, and glanced to Eadric.

“Basiltinni left me with potions and instructions, in case you need them.”

“How presumptuous to assume I’m staying here.” And yet the idea of getting up and relocating was daunting. 

Eadric ignored him and reached for a bottle. “You should try the pain reliever. It’s maximum strength, so it should have an effect.”

Servos took a breath to try to diffuse his anger. Eadric was only trying to help—though Servos couldn’t grasp  _ why _ —but he wasn’t in the mood for this. He wanted to be left alone.

“No, thanks,” he replied evenly.

Eadric didn’t give in. “Basiltinni said his magic would wear off soon. It’s best to take it before the pain returns.” 

The retort slipped from his lips, saturated with sarcasm. “Well, why didn’t you say so? You always know best.” 

Eadric didn’t like that one bit. He placed the bottle down with more force than necessary. “Would you like me to leave?”

“ _ Finally _ , he gets it!” 

“Tell me who did this to you, and I will.”

Oh,  _ no.  _ Servos would  _ not  _ be forced into having this conversation. “Has it occurred to you that it's none of your business? But of course the great Lord Tyran can’t stand the insult of someone damaging his  _ property _ . However would your image survive?”

“You are many things, Servos, but  _ dense  _ isn’t one of them.”

Was Eadric really going to pretend this wasn’t about  _ his _ reputation? Now that the brand had been revealed, even if only to a few, scrutiny would follow. Servos was too tired to ponder the political aspect of this mess. “I'm not having this conversation.”

“And I'm not leaving until I know who did this.” 

There wasn't much Eadric could do. Another councilor had orchestrated the interrogation, and Eadric wouldn't want to hurt his chances of joining their ranks. “I’m not in the market for a lawyer; I’ve no interest in seeking legal action, so leave it be.”

“ _ Legal  _ action?” Eadric echoed, dangerously quiet. “I’m not going to file a lawsuit, Servos. I’m going to dismantle everyone and everything associated with them and  _ then  _ kill them. Slowly.”

The image of Eadric slitting Pythos’ throat flashed in his mind. The well aimed strike of a man who’d killed before. How he wished Eadric could simply dispatch Dunn's goons as easily. 

Eadric made an impatient sound. “I don’t want to ruin the lives of every enforcement agent for the actions of a few. Give me names.” 

He would do it, Servos knew, and he wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. For some unfathomable reason, Dunn had risked invoking Eadric’s wrath, and Servos couldn’t tell if he’d done it with the foresight of a child poking a wasps’ nest or a hunter ambushing a sleeping dragon. 

“Servos,” Eadric said tersely. “We must act. We’ll both rest easier knowing that if Estella was ever detained, she would be safe until I retrieved her.”

Incensed by the blatantly manipulative statement, Servos sneered. “This wasn’t enforcement, Eadric. It was a message for  _ you  _ from Councilor Dunn. I apologize for not being given the specifics. I was a little busy screaming.”

Eadric flinched as if he’d been struck. Then, after a moment of silence, he turned and left. 

It was the reaction Servos had been aiming for, so why did he feel guilty? Overcome with a tidal wave of emotions—resentment at Eadric, fury at the damage that had been done to him (all because he’d tried to help), and helplessness at being without his hands—he reached out and knocked down the nearest potion on his bedside table. Watching it shatter and splashed across the polished floor did little to alleviate his pain. Being left alone, however, did, and as the embers of anger slowly died out, he thought of Estella. 

If he contacted her, she would want to visit him, and he couldn’t allow her to come without Felicia. He didn’t want to burden either of them with this, and although he’d long ago decided not to choose sheltering them over arming them with knowledge, they were still children. He didn’t want them caught up in all of this—or was protecting them just an excuse he was using to avoid facing reality? Was it a selfish need that made him want to wait until tomorrow to see them? By then he could be healed and home, and the evidence of this ordeal would be far behind him. 

As his mind wandered, he became increasingly aware that he had to use the lavatory, so he bit the bullet and struggled out of bed, careful to avoid using his hands in any way. Because he was still unclothed he managed to use the facilities without difficulty—which was no small relief. 

Short lived, however, because he crashed onto his back as he was returning to bed, slipping in the very potion he'd spilled. Instant karma, some might say. 

Servos gritted his teeth at the aftershocks of the impact with the worst of it lingering in his hands. Thankfully, he felt no cuts or scrapes from the glass. If anything, his pride was wounded the worst (which was just typical). 

The bedroom door clicked open.

Unable to get up quick enough, Servos willed the ground to swallow him whole. 

No such luck. 

Eadric stood over him, raising a brow and holding a metal serving tray. 

The scent of salmon, eggs, and tea hit him like a battering ram, making his stomach rumble. Hunger, pain, and humility were a poor combination. “Don’t touch me,” Servos snapped before Eadric could even  _ think _ of helping him. 

“Have it your way.” 

With a quick gesture, Servos was lifted with invisible hands and moved back to the bed.

The levitation spell earned Eadric a glare, but Servos was secretly relieved when the covers were pulled up and over his lap. 

“What were you doing out of bed?” Eadric asked as he set the tray down. 

Embarrassment twisted into anger. “None of your business. Now, can I have some clothes or is this how you treat all your guests?” If you wanted to insult a blueblood, question their hospitality. 

Eadric’s lips twitched. “There are clothes in the nightstand.” As if to prove his point, a set of midnight blue pajamas appeared in his hand. 

When Servos realized how impossible getting dressed would be without the use of his hands, he decided he definitely didn't want an audience. “Leave them on the bed and go.”

Eadric rolled his eyes. “Stand up. I'll help.”

“I don’t need help.” And now he sounded like a child. 

Eadric's expression was just as patronizing as his tone when he said, “Of course you don’t.” He placed the clothes on the bed and raised a brow in challenge. 

Servos sneered. “Contrary to what your ego tells you, I would survive just fine without your help.”

“Would you?” Eadric replied, simple but harsh. 

His head burned with anger. The ordeal with enforcement still fresh in his mind, he snarled, “I didn't ask you to come!”

“And yet I came.”

That gave Servos pause. Eadric had come when he didn't have to, and Servos had no idea  _ why _ . “You shouldn't have,” he snapped without really meaning it. It was one of his worst traits—saying things in anger that he didn't mean and was too prideful to take back. 

Eadric didn't reply. 

Though brimming with anger, Servos could only sit there and simmer. He wanted to yell and curse and break things because for all that he had achieved in his life, he was still just a bitter, foul-tempered boy at heart. Gradually, exhaustion replaced his agitation. Damn it all. If he was going to be bedridden, he wanted to be dressed. 

After his embarrassing temper tantrum, it was hard to acquiesce, so he said, “Are you going to help or not?” 

Eadric's smirk set him on edge, but to Servos' surprise, he made not a single comment during the entire process. No innuendos, no smug I-told-you-so. He simply helped Servos into a set silky soft attire that fit as if they had been purchased specifically for him. 

Something was definitely amiss. Servos would have to be cautious until he discovered what his ulterior motives were, but that might not be as easy as it seemed. Each brush of Eadric’s hands on his skin as he helped him dress was electrifying, so alluring that Servos had to blame the bond. Proximity to each other clearly affected it. His gryphon was practically purring with satisfaction, an alarming development that made him debate the wisdom of returning to his pack rather than remaining at the manor. 

No. He needed Basiltinni. 

A wave of fatigue hit him as soon as he was helped back into bed. Too much healing and not enough fuel. If he wanted to get better, he had to eat.

Slender fingers gently gripped his forearm, and Servos tensed at the unexpected contact. Thankfully, the sleeve of his shirt separated them this time. Eadric carefully lifted his arms, one at a time, and placed a pillow under each to rest them on. 

Servos was accustomed to Eadric being a persistent, arrogant jerk, but this tenderness? He had no defense against this, no idea how to guard himself from the thoughtful, gentle actions. 

“You should eat,” Eadric said after a moment. 

Burying his turmoil, Servos glanced to the tray. Eight slices of toasted rye bread were arranged on a white plate. Layered on top of each was a generous cut of smoked salmon, topped with a poached egg, and covered in some sort of cream colored sauce that smelled of dairy. “I do hope that isn’t your work.”

Eadric scoffed. “You have Merritt to thank.” 

Ah, the butler. One of the few servants that had worked for Eadric’s father that he’d kept. 

Truthfully, Servos was so hungry that he would have eaten it regardless of the chef. The entire breakfast spread, centered on seafood, was tailored to his taste—even the black tea that had a hint of honey

_ What are you up to, Eadric?  _

Eadric picked up one of the sandwiches. “I assumed you didn't want a liquid dinner, but these aren’t exactly hands-free.”

In other words, his options were a smoothie or a meal that required help to consume. “Pick your poison?” Servos said wryly. Then, exercising what little control he had, he beckoned Eadric forward. It was foolish to accept being hand-fed by a man that had once drugged him, but if Servos never gave him the opportunity to prove himself, how could trust be rebuilt between them?

Before he lost his nerve, he took a bite. 

The salmon was cooked to perfection and went perfectly with the poached egg. Feeling yogurt sauce dripping down his chin, Servos swallowed and had to keep himself from immediately leaning forward for another bite. “It's edible.”

Eadric raised a brow. “Would you prefer a smoothie?” 

“I'm quite alright, thanks.”

With a roll of his eyes, Eadric continued to help him eat until half the plate had been devoured. As Servos sipped his tea, Eadric struck. “Tell me who did this to you.”

Servos tensed at the command. “Or you’ll—what—stop helping me? I hope you’ll make a better councilor than a nurse.”

“Think of it as blackmail if you need to do so to protect your pride, but  _ tell me _ , Servos. If they were after me—” Eadric cut off, and Servos tensed at the guilt that trickled through their bond. 

Damn. If Servos kept this information from Eadric, he would be putting him at risk. Servos would never willingly do that. “Kade Hans and a woman with the first name Theda.”

Eadric's expression became unreadable as he processed this information. “Councilor Dunn’s enforcers.” He paused, pensive. “He favored my father.”

That wasn't good. Eadric's father had a multitude of unsavory policies and practices. 

Eadric fell silent and helped him finish eating. Servos enjoyed the temporary reprieve. 

“What did they want?” Eadric asked as soon as Servos finished the last bite. 

What indeed? The interrogation was a little hazy, but he remembered the conclusions he'd reached. “Councilor Dunn had questions about why you wanted a seat on the council. He seems to think you’re quite the threat.”

Eadric looked positively predatory. “I hope you managed to convince them I'm harmless.”

“Harmless as a viper.”

Eadric laughed, and the sound made Servos smile until he realized what he was doing.  _ Get ahold of yourself,  _ he told the gryphon. 

“They used Sangus’ Serum on me,” Servos said, getting back on track. 

Fury lit those steel eyes. “Oh?”

“Luckily, because of our estrangement, they weren’t able to discern much from me.”

“Yes. How…fortunate.” Eadric looked conflicted, but after a moment, he merely inclined his head. “I'll leave you to rest. We can continue this later. Food will be waiting for you when you awake.”

Shifters required a lot of food, but Servos knew the limits of his appetite. “That won't be necessary.”

“Oh, but it will. Healing shifters requires an abundance of rest and food.”

As if Servos didn't known that. “Been reading, have you?” But while they were on the subject of shifters… “I should speak with Reginald.” Which felt far more difficult than it sounded. 

“I’ve already informed him that you’ll be in touch tomorrow or the next day.”

Presumptuous but Servos was far less annoyed than he should have been. One less thing to deal right away. “Estrella, then. I should at least—” 

Eadric cut him off. “She’s here.”

Momentarily stunned by the pronouncement, his relief was cut short by concern for Felicia who had been left behind. He'd taken her in. What sort of message would it send to Felicia to be left behind while Estella was brought to his side? Eadric didn’t even  _ know _ about the orphan girl he’d taken in, but that was no excuse for the mistake. He should have left Reginald in charge of the girls. “You had no right! Felicia—”

“The little otter girl?” Eadric raised a brow. “She’s here as well.”

Relief vanquished Servos’ ire in a heartbeat. “Oh. Good,” he said lamely. 

“I went to collect Estrella as soon as I was able. Imagine my surprise when she informed me that we couldn’t leave without  _ Fia _ .” Exasperation colored his features. “Really, Servos, we must have a discussion about this ‘saving people’ complex you’ve developed a taste for.”

Servos rolled his eyes dismissively and said, “I need to see them.”

“Sleep first. I’ll bring them in for lunch at three.”

He wanted to argue, but he was drained. He knew he should see the girls, but he didn't have the energy to be attentive. So, he complied and closed his eyes. He was asleep before Eadric even left the room.


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long! :)

Gentle prodding and low whispers woke him.

Estella was peering down at him fretfully, and his nose told him that Felicia was nearby as well. What were they doing here? Wasn’t Eadric supposed to bring them in once he’d woken? 

Servos sat up with a struggle that left him pained and lightheaded. He was uncomfortably cold but offered them what he hoped was a reassuring smile, trying not to look as ill as he felt. They both wore their concern openly, and he felt guilty for not seeing them sooner. “Are you both alright?”

Felicia surprised him by saying, “We should be asking  _ you _ that, sir.”

“Typical Uncle ‘Vos,” Estella muttered, slipping off the bed. 

Servos wondered if he should scold her exasperated tone. 

“Do you need anything, sir?” Felicia asked. 

“No.” The idea of accepting help from the girls whom he was supposed to be taking care of—not the other way around—didn't sit well but with him. He swallowed lowing his pride and reached out to Eadric with a mental tap.  _ Are you home? _

_ I am.  _

_ Do you  _ ever _ work?  _

Amusement thrummed down the bond.  _ I’ll be there in a moment. _

Though annoyed that Eadric had correctly assumed he needed help, he kept it to himself and asked the girls, “I trust you’re behaving for our host?” 

Estella sounded distant when she said, “Yeah,” and he realized too late that she was staring at his hands. Damn. “The werebear didn’t do that.” 

It wasn't a question, but he still replied. “No.” How he wished he could spare her the dark side of humanity. Except, she'd already seen it, hadn't she? She'd lost her mother and had nearly lost  _ him  _ for the third time. She faced fear and hate everyday simply for being a shifter, and she had to live with the knowledge that despite the prejudice she faced, she  _ still _ had it better than others of their kind thanks to Eadric's help. 

He was failing her. He had to do  _ more.  _

Despite her own hardships, she seemed determined to focus on others. The Roesch women were strong. “Do you need something for the pain? I could ask Mr. Ty—” She cut herself off, cocking her head like a wolf. 

Servos heard it too, footsteps moments before the door opened.

Felicia quickly moved to put the bed between herself and Eadric as he came into the room carrying a familiar metal tray.

The sight was so unexpected that it all but invited snark. “Don’t you have servants for that?” 

An uneven smile answered him. “Shall I assign you one? We all know how much you'd enjoy a stranger tending to you.”

Eadric was right, so Servos did the only thing he could and avoided the question, choosing instead to examine the potion and the glass of…something on the tray. The thick, green mixture looked extraordinarily unappetizing, and he couldn’t quite pick apart what was in it. The scent did nothing to quell his queasy stomach. “Tell me you don't expect me to drink that.”

Eadric smirked. 

“No.”

Estella didn't like that one bit. “You have to eat! You need to get better!” 

Eadric—the bastard—only gave him a victorious look behind her back. Then, he flipped down the handles of the tray so that it rested over Servos' lap like a table.

_ Drink it all. You wouldn't want to upset the children, would you?  _ Eadric said, enjoying himself far too much.

Servos glowered. 

Eadric took advantage of his silence to instruct his underage wardens. “When he drinks it all, he can have the dose of pain reliever.”

Felicia and Estella nodded in unison, eagerly accepting their assignment. 

Servos wanted to point out that it wouldn’t help—that even the strongest dose barely worked long enough to take the edge off—but he didn’t bother. If taking it made the girls feel better, why protest? 

Eadric left, and as Servos sipped at the disgusting smoothie, he was entertained with a recap of what had happened at the house after he dropped them off. According to Estella, Reginald and River had closed the shop immediately after he set off after the bear and headed to the pack house. The news had already been reporting on the incident, and, much to his displeasure, some of his fight against the bear had been caught on film.

“That trick you did with the ice was brilliant!” Estella proclaimed.

Despite the praise, his immediate concern was that the girls may have seen enforcement bloodily hack the bear apart or arrest him. Neither girls needed additional trauma in their lives. He'd reluctantly formed a pack and become alpha to protect his family. What was the point of his title if it caused the girls more harm than good? 

“Here. Look.” Estella excitedly pulled out her phone and showed him a clip of the footage. There would have been nothing incriminating about it if not for the blaring headlines that read SHIFTERS AMONG US? Thankfully, none of the enforcement agents were willing to answer questions about his identity. No doubt out of fear of Eadric Tyran. 

Estella’s grin as she recapped the reaction to the video soothed the worst of his fears. Apparently, Reginald had already called the lieutenants together by the time it was being broadcasted. “And when you 'pathed to tell me you were being detained, I let' em know.”

That had, as anticipated, put them all on high alert. Then, when it turned to night without further word from Servos, Jalia had sent Estella and Felicia to bed. That was the extent of their knowledge—until shouting woke them in the night. 

Eadric had come over unannounced, and Reginald had taken offense when he had not only refused to answer any questions but had demanded Estella accompany him back to the manor. Reginald had obviously refused. As civilized as Reginald was—a blueblood as much as a shifter—his instincts would have told him to keep the pack together in an emergency. 

According to Estella, diplomacy had gone out the window rather quickly. Eadric had been the first to attack, and she could tell the fight was deathly serious. She did the only thing she could think of to stop them; she threw her door open and yelled that she wanted to see her uncle. Her intervention, however, only succeeded in distracting Reginald, enabling Eadric to gain the upper hand. 

Servos almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Obviously, he didn't want conflict between Eadric and the pack, but imagining both men dueling like idiots when a simple phone call would have cleared things up—well, it was as amusing as it was frustrating. 

On the other hand, his gryphon felt vicious satisfaction. His bondmate had gone toe-to-toe with his deputy—the pack’s strongest sorcerer, second only to Servos—and won. _Down boy,_ he told it, irritated at the gryphon’s primal response. 

Estella moved on, complaining that Iden wasn’t being as accommodating to Felicia as he should be. Oh, the boy was a proper Tyran; he didn’t dare insult Felicia to her face or within earshot, but he didn't engage her in conversation or attempt to make her feel welcome. 

Servos was no child psychologist. Too often children felt like alien creatures, their motives and thought processes so illogical that it made his head hurt. Thankfully, he had an idea of what was going on. “He probably feels Felicia is competition for your friendship. Give him time to adjust.” Telepathically, he added,  _ Iden can’t very well trust a stranger with his secret—the same secret his mother lost her life for mere months ago. He may be upset that he can’t be himself with her around.  _ He'd already told her how important it was that she never share Iden's shifter form with anyone, so he knew she hadn't told Felicia. 

Estella frowned. “So, what should we do?”

Servos offered Felicia a smile—something he made an effort to do to encourage the shy girl to feel at ease. “We wait until he realizes how wonderful Felicia is.”

Felicia’s eyes dropped in embarrassment.

Estella enthusiastically voiced her agreement and then helped him drink the pain reliever. This wasn't Basiltinni's first time treating him, so the dose was well calculated. The worst of the pain dulled, and the brief reprieve gave time for sleep to beckon. He knew he needed to rest, but he wasn't willing to send the girls away. 

As if summoned, Iden knocked and entered the room. He offered Servos a polite “sir,” and turned to the girls. His expression was guarded, but Servos saw no hostility aimed at Felicia. Smart boy. Servos wanted to let the children resolve issues between themselves, but he wouldn't tolerate disrespect towards Felicia. 

“Lunch is ready,” Iden said. 

Eadric was sending his son to run errands now? 

“I wanna eat here,” Estella said. 

Iden raised his brows, imitating his father. Apart from his sapphire eyes, he was the spitting image of Eadric: aristocratic features, fair skin, and blond hair. It didn’t help that Iden dressed like Eadric did, looking more like a miniature adult than an eleven year old child. “Father said it’s only proper to eat in a bed if you’re ill or an invalid.”

Of course he did. 

Estella narrowed an eye, looking like she wanted to argue. 

“Go,” Servos ordered. “Eat.”

Estella huffed. “Fine.” She grabbed her russet wolf plushie from the dresser and put it on his lap before following Iden out of the room.

Felicia offered a polite, “sleep well, sir,” and closed the door behind her. 

Servos heard Iden smugly say, “You brought it with you?” as they walked away. He could only be talking about the plushie because, as he recalled, Iden had given it to her. 

He studied the wolf toy until their footsteps faded and a single approaching set took their place. A little peace and quiet was too much to hope for it seemed. 

Eadric entered without knocking. The lord of the manor didn't concern himself with trivial things like  _ privacy _ . 

“Shouldn't you be eating lunch with the children?” Servos asked. 

A single raised brow said it all. As if Eadric could think of nothing worse than eating lunch with three children, two of which weren't his. “I think they'll manage without me. I have work to do, but before I begin, I wanted to check on you.”

Having Eadric be so attentive was unnerving because Servos couldn't decipher his motivations. “Thank you,  _ nurse _ . I'm fine.” 

Eadric's lips twitched. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

Looking far from convinced, Eadric said, “I'll check in on you before dinner.”

“Please don't.”

Eadric laughed and closed the door. 

  
  
  
  


Servos woke some time later to the unmistakable, awful awareness that he was about to vomit. There was barely time to lean over the side of the bed before he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor. As he stared at the polished floor, he realized he didn't know where he was. This room and bed weren't his. The sounds, the scents—they were all wrong. 

A hint of familiarity quelled his rising panic. Eadric had been here recently. Why? He scanned the room without moving his head until he recognized he was at the manor. He'd been badly injured, and he was recovering. 

No longer in the throes of panic, he took inventory of his aching body. Apart from renewed pain in his hands (he must have jostled them upon waking), he felt clammy, chilled, and feverish. Was this an infection? He knew the symptoms, but shifters were immune to many ailments and popular opinion said infections was one of them. 

His stomach suddenly lurched in warning, but when he stood to try to make it to the bathroom, the room began to spin. He lost consciousness between one step and the next. 

  
  
  
  


A cool, glass rim met his lips unexpectedly. He twisted away, but Eadric's soothing voice eventually coaxed him to accept the drink. The warm liquid soothed his sore throat. 

“Drink it all.”

He did, but only because he was parched, and it helped wash away the foul taste in his mouth. 

“What…” He trailed off and fell asleep despite Eadric's attempts to engage him. 

When he woke again, he simultaneously became aware of two things. Firstly, he was still in bed in a guest bedroom at the manor. Secondly, he could hear talking in the other room, but he could only make out one voice. Eadric’s. He must have been on the phone. 

“Yes, his fever has been increasing… It hasn't helped.  _ Now _ . I'll be there in a moment.” 

A fever. We're they talking about him? 

Despite his curiosity, he was too exhausted to stay conscious long enough to find out. 

  
  
  
  


A hand on his shoulder startled him awake. 

Basiltinni loomed overhead. “Servos. You need to take these.” A vial was brought close enough for Servos to scent—a detoxifier for silver.

When he frowned in confusion, Basiltinni said, “You’re running a fever. Whatever they used on your hands must be lingering in your system. This should be the final dose needed to clear it up, but in case it isn’t, I’ll be leaving another vial.”

That made sense. The symptoms fit, so when the glass was raised to his lips, he drank before sleep reclaimed him.

  
  
  
  


Someone was calling his name. 

He forced an eye open and found Basiltinni at his bedside. 

“Servos, focus. You're doing better, and we're nearly done. You either need to eat something simple, which I would prefer, or drink this. Your choice.”

His stern tone irritated Servos, but he was too tired to argue and reluctantly accepted the bland nutrient potion. Basiltinni then checked his temperature with a spell and, after declaring it was elevated, put another potion on the nightstand. 

“I set up a monitoring spell,” he told Eadric. “If his temperature gets too high, it will go off, and you should give him that.”

“How much?” Eadric asked. 

Servos scowled at being discussed as though he wasn't present. It wasn't like he was a master of potions who already knew the correct dosage. He huffed, closed his eyes, and ignored them.

When they were done with their discussion, Eadric took Basiltinni home and returned to his side with another smoothie. “I’ve been told that if you drink half of this, you can have a sleeping potion.”

Servos eyed the smoothie. Still battling nausea, the idea of drinking it was highly unappealing, but he very much wanted that sleeping aid. Thankfully, after suffering through as much of the smoothie as he could muster, Eadric recognized he'd reached his limit and gave him the potion. 

  
  
  
  


Servos felt better come morning—apart from his hands and the anxiety regarding his upcoming visit from Basiltinni. His appetite had returned with a vengeance, and with the awkwardness of being hand fed overshadowed by hunger, he accepted Eadric's help with minimal complaints. 

Breakfast was fruit-rich oatmeal and scrambled eggs on toast, and when he was done eating, the girls came to visit. Estella told him about the riding lessons they’d taken with Iden. Felicia chimed in now and again with thinly veiled enthusiasm, making Servos wonder if he could find money for them to take official lessons. 

“Fia had no idea winged horses existed,” Estella said, giving her friend a teasing grin. 

Felicia flushed. “I thought they were a myth! Like dragons.” 

“Dragons are real too!” Then, realizing what she'd said, Estella quickly added, “They're extinct though.” 

Felicia's face dropped. “That's sad.”

Lying to her obviously bothered Estella. He could see the guilt in her eyes, so he saved her from having to say more. “We'll add magical creatures to your schooling.” 

That made Felicia smile. 

She wasn't a sorcerer and attended a mundane school outside of the city, but magic was part of her life as long as she lived in Tarnov. Servos had taken it upon himself to educate her and found she was an adept student—unlike Jalia. He'd been trying to teach Jalia magic, trying to help her get in touch with her neglected sorcerer heritage, but her distaste for sorcerers held her back. 

“Are unicorns real?” Felicia asked excitedly. “How about leprechauns?” 

Servos answered question after question until Basiltinni arrived at noon. No matter the outcome, the appointment itself wasn't going to be pleasant, so he asked the girls to give them privacy. Eadric tasked Iden with keeping them occupied, and when the children were gone, Basiltinni began the examination. 

“Your temperature is normal. Any nausea, vomiting, or additional pain?” 

“No.” 

“Excellent. Then we can begin. You decided you want me to heal the bones, correct?” 

“Yes.” There was no way he was leaving his hands to heal on their own. He needed to know how badly they were damaged, and magical healing reduced the risk of further complications. 

“Very well. After the bones, I can address the burns. I must warn you that I suspect you'll have permanent scarring.”

“Noted.” What were a few more scars? 

Basiltinni nodded and reached for his right hand first. “You may feel some discomfort. That’s normal, but remain still. Understand?”

As soon as he nodded, warmth flooded his hand like the gentle caress of a smoldering fireplace. It sank deep into his bones and then suddenly became uncomfortably warm, but he didn't dare move. It got hotter and hotter, and then suddenly began to fade. 

He was sweating by the time it was over and Basiltinni carefully unwrapped his newly healed hand. The burns still looked atrocious, but his fingers were no longer misshapen. 

“Ready for the next one?” 

Servos resisted the urge to flex his digits. “Yes.”

The second proceeded similarly to the first, and when all of his bones were healed, Basiltinni inspected the burns. “There's no sign of infection, so this will be quick. I’m told it feels cold and itches—” 

“But don’t move. Understood.” 

Basiltinni gave him an encouraging look before he began. 

Ice flooded Servos’ hands, making him inhale sharply. Unlike the heat that had accompanied the magic that healed his bones, the coldness came quick and remained steady. Then, the burns on his hands began to heal layer by layer before his eyes. It was an unnerving sight to witness. The urge to scratch increased by the second, but cognizant of the Basiltinni’s warning, he remained still.

When it was over, Basiltinni took his right hand and inspected it. The back of it was red and rough looking, the sight more upsetting than he’d anticipated. Why? He wasn’t a vain man. It wasn’t as if these were his first scars. 

“Open and close your hand.” 

Servos did as directed and the burning sensation it sent throughout his hand made his heart drop. Determined to prove it was a fluke, he clenched his fist—and hissed at the sharp, burning pain. 

“Let me see.” Basiltinni took Servos’ hand in his and studied it. 

Servos didn't need the medmage to confirm it, but he did. 

“I’m sorry, Servos. There is nerve damage. If you look here—” 

His brain disengaged from the medmage’s anatomy lesson. This couldn’t be happening. He’d been faced with the limits of his shifter regeneration before, but not like this. Superficial scars were nothing compared to permanent nerve damage. 

“I’ve reached the limit of what I can do, but I’m going to leave you with a physical therapy regimen to follow. I want you to try it for six weeks, and we'll reevaluate then.”

“Alright,” Servos said blankly, using every trick he'd ever learned to keep from breaking down.  _ Later. Process it later. Compartmentalize _ , he told himself. 

_ I’ll kill them,  _ Eadric vowed, his rage a tidal wave down their bond.  _ Slit their throats and dump them at your feet. _

As much as Dunn’s goons deserved to pay for what they'd done, it wouldn’t fix his hands. They had to be dealt with but—

One step at a time. He could do this. 

“I'll leave you to process,” Basiltinni said when no one else spoke. “Call me if you have any questions or concerns.” 

Servos had many fucking  _ concerns _ , but he bit back his scathing comments. Basiltinni didn't deserve a verbal assault, so he gave a noncommittal nod and turned his gaze to the wall. 

Eadric came to his side as soon as the door closed, radiating fury like the sun did heat. “I'll have the chief of enforcement eliminated and replaced within the week.” 

He wished the suggestion surprised him, but Eadric was a blueblood. This was the way they operated. That didn't mean Servos would be a willing participant. He hadn't even  _ met  _ the head of enforcement, and he wouldn't condemn a man to death if his only crime was ignorance to the corruption of his officers. 

“Please don't. Just go.”

“You shouldn’t be alone right now.” 

Anger was his only protection against the despair building in his chest, threatening to consume him. He weaponized that anger and turned it upon Eadric with a glare as he sat up. “Thankfully, I don’t need your permission. I’m going home.” 

It was time to face the real world. He couldn't linger here forever with Eadric catering to him like a doting lover. It wasn't real. Whatever Eadric wanted this time, as soon as he got it, Servos would be discarded once more. Best to end it now before the line between fantasy and reality blurred. 

Responsibility called. He had to face the pack and be the alpha they needed. Debrief, organize, start the investigation into the werebear’s attack… On second thought, staying at the manor sounded far more appealing. 

Eadric pursed his lips. “Very well, but we have something to discuss before you depart.” 

He scoffed. “Do we?” If he was about to ask for repayment, Servos was going to—

“We must decide how to keep you and your wards safe.”

Servos didn't like the insinuation that he needed help to take care of the girls  _ or  _ himself. “We'll be fine,” he said with far more conviction than he felt because truthfully he  _ was _ worried. About what being revealed would mean for Estella and Felicia, about how he could possibly protect them now that his hands were ruined, about how he was supposed to run a pack, let alone a potion's business, while  _ crippled.  _

“I've already been sent papers to confirm your status as sponsored by House Tyran.”

Eadric's words pulled Servos from his pity party quite violently. _ “What?” _ He had hoped they'd taken Eadric's word for it and let it be, but of course it couldn't be that easy. Things rarely were. 

“When they realized that their department  _ must _ have misplaced the record of our contract—” Eadric lips twitched into a smirk because he'd no doubt helped them reach that conclusion, “—they politely asked me for a copy. I've been terribly busy, so I haven't had the time to reply.”

There was no copy to give them because no contract existed. They were only delaying the inevitable. 

“Servos, your secret is out, and while my influence is far-reaching, even I must work within the parameters of the law.”

_ Or,  _ Servos thought,  _ not get caught breaking it.  _

“That being said, I have a suggestion.” 

Servos knew better than to believe this suggestion had just come to him. Whatever it was had likely been his endgame all along. Eadric was a schemer. 

“Obviously I do not have a contract to send them a copy of, and forging one, if caught, would have disastrous consequences. That leaves us with one option. I propose we make a real contract.”

If it was a joke, it was a poor one, but nothing in Eadric's posture suggested he was jesting. “You think I'd just sign my life over to you after what you've done?” Drugging him, using his nature to forge the bond between them, and then abandoning him for months? 

Eadric looked solem. “No, I don't. Hence the contract. It would bind both of us to our word.” 

Yes, and if either of them broke it, it could be voided but —“This doesn't address Dunn's attack.”

“True. My name may not protect you and the girls from  _ him _ if I’m his true target, but it will keep you safe in Tarnov.”

It would, and it wouldn't. Anyone willing to risk the Eadric's wrath would still pose a threat. Though Servos had to admit that number was small. Though the Tyran House had been reduced to just Eadric and his son, his political power remained strong. He had strong ties to blueblood families inside and outside Tarnov. Fear, money, and favors owed were powerful influencers. 

Eadric's name had been keeping Estella safe for months now. Didn't Felicia deserve that same protection? Wasn’t it Servos’ job to care for them equally and wholey? As much as he wanted to, he couldn't outright reject this option until he weighed the pros and cons. 

He decided to cut to the point because he had no patience for verbal gymnastics today. “I have no need for your protection, but Felicia does. So, speak plainly. What do you want in exchange for lending her your name?”

As much as Servos adored Felicia, he had no doubt Eadric (like many other sorcerers) saw her non-sorcerer blood as a defect. He wouldn't help her out of the goodness of his heart. Eadric rarely did things just because they were right. 

Mien a black hole of emotions, Eadric said, “I want you to marry me.”

Servos was certain that he'd heard wrong, but when Eadric remained silent, waiting expectantly, he realized he hadn't. “You  _ cannot _ be serious. Struggling to control himself, he demanded, “What could you possibly hope to gain?” 

“You. Obviously.”

Servos tempered his ire at the unhelpful response. “Yes, but  _ why _ ?” Did Eadric seek to use him to intimidate and kill his enemies as his father had? How ironic would it be that Servos has escaped one Tyran just to be imprisoned by the next? 

“Why not?”

If Eadric thought he was going to get away with evading the question, he was mistaken. “I will walk out that door if you don't explain yourself.” He should walk out the door anyway. Consequences be damned. 

Steel eyes studied him, calculating if Servos was bluffing. “Very well. Because I want you. I've wanted you for quite some time, and if that's not enough of a reason, because we're bonded. Have you not felt its pull?”

Yes, he had. Every day, no matter what he was doing, his thoughts inevitably turned to Eadric. It was as if some part of him, maybe the gryphon, was pining. He'd ruined more than one potion as his thoughts inevitably wandered. 

_ Soulbond.  _

Was it possible that physical separation had real consequences for them? 

Suddenly, Servos felt trapped, and like a wild animal, he never reacted well to it. “We're bonded because of  _ you _ ,” he hissed. Eadric and his dead wife. Imagining them conspiring behind his back all those months ago added another log to the inferno that was his fury. Giving in now felt like surrendering to their manipulations, felt like losing. 

“Yes, and even if I wanted to change it, I can't. I don't know how to break the bond, and if you could, I assume you'd have done it already.”

Servos wasn't certain he would have, but what sort of thought was that? Of course he would. He'd been shackled against his will. Not that it mattered. He didn't even know  _ if _ the bond could be broken. Let alone  _ how.  _

He didn't share his thoughts. Dwelling in the past wasn't getting them anywhere. “You weren’t willing to deal with the consequences of our association a few months ago. What’s changed?”

Eadric’s smirk was feral. “Why do you think I’ve been campaigning for a seat on the council?”

Servos snorted derisively at the implication. “I assumed  _ power _ was a motivator.”

“Scoff all you want, but you’ll be thanking me when  _ I’m _ the councilor you answer to as a citizen of Tarnov.”

Servos would not be answering to  _ any _ councilor. “You have less of a chance of winning a seat on the council than  _ I do _ .”

Eadric smiled like a lion spotting a limping lamb. “You sound so certain. Care to wager?”

“Certainly.” Servos rolled his eyes. “If you win, I’ll dance ballet for you.”

“I’d rather you cook me dinner with those gorgeous wings displayed. No shirt. Pants optional.”

Servos hesitated. The small chance he might lose was worrisome, yet as apprehensive as he was, the gryphon was thrilled with this game. Well, it would hardly be the end of the world if Eadric got to see him shirtless once again. More than likely, however, Servos would win the wager. The gloating rights alone made it worth the risk. 

“Agreed. And if I win, you’ll cease this marriage nonsense.”

“Nice try, but those prizes are hardly on par.”

Well, it had been worth a shot. “Fine. Then, if I win, I'll owe you nothing for Basiltinni's services.” One less thing to worry about. 

Eadric's displeasure was unexpected, but whatever the cause, he didn't address it. “Deal. Now, will you marry me?” 

In his mind, the gryphon purred, but Servos couldn’t afford to follow the whims of his animal—no matter the bond between him and Eadric.  _ He forced the bond on us,  _ he scolded his animal.  _ You understand that, yes? _

Servos got the district impression the gryphon didn’t give a shit. 

Fan-fucking-tastic. 

He'd spent over a decade ignoring his animal. Only recently had he tried to be more in tune with it, and moments like these made him regret it. 

As much as he would have loved to say no to Eadric, to ask for him to choose something else, he knew he’d be wasting his time. Eadric had made up his mind. He wouldn’t budge. Why should he when he knew he held the upper hand in their negotiations? 

“How romantic,” Servos sneered. “Bargaining for wedlock.” 

“Apologies,” Eadric said wryly. “I didn't intend to offend your romantic sensibilities.”

Servos tried his hardest to set the pompous blueblood on fire with his gaze. “I’m not giving you an answer without knowing exactly what I’d be agreeing to.” 

Eadric smirked. “Giving in so quickly? Could it be that you  _ desire _ to be mine?” 

The way he said desire made Servos' body react in ways he didn’t care for. Damn Eadric, and damn his beast. He didn't trust either of them. “I haven't agreed to anything, and I won't without a premarital contract.” Blueblood he was not, but he knew their customs. 

Eadric did  _ not _ look happy. “As is your right. I'll have one drafted, but it will require someone to negotiate on your behalf.”

He didn't even hesitate to suggest, “Reginald.” Like Servos, he walked both the sorcerer and shifter world.  _ Unlike _ him, Reginald's family was one of the Founding Fifteen. Eadric's father may have had Servos educated in their culture, but a few years of formal lessons couldn't replace a lifetime of experience. 

Eadric wasn't surprised. “We can meet tomorrow night to negotiate specifics, if that's agreeable?” 

It was too soon. Everything was happening so quickly. “So eager to have me bound?” There wasn't an answer that wouldn't piss him off, so he added, “Tomorrow it is. Now, if you'll excuse me.”

Though he didn't look eager to leave, Eadric acquiesced with a polite, “I'll arrange a ride home for you,” but Servos didn't let his guard down until his footsteps disappeared down the hall. Then, he telepathed Reginald, informing him he’d be home with the girls soon. Before he collected them, he showered, washing away the stink of blood, sweat, and pain. 

“How'd it go?” Estella asked as soon as he stepped into their guest room. 

“We can talk at home,” he replied, trying to act as if all were well. As though his hands weren’t scarred and he wasn’t considering marrying Eadric Tyran. “Do you have everything you need?” 

That distracted the girls, and they hurriedly packed. When they were ready, he led them outside. He'd walked five steps into the fresh air when a scent on the breeze gave him pause. 

Shifter? 

He frowned and sampled the air again but found nothing. 

“Uncle?” Estella prodded him. 

Now vigilant, Servos guided them towards the driveway where their ride home awaited. 

  
  
  
  


While opening the door to the garage-laboratory (with a twinge of pain), he caught Estella staring at his hands. He’d promised her answers, but this wasn't the time or place for a conversation. 

“Inside,” he said, ushering them into the house. 

Estella hesitated, but she eventually followed Felicia inside. While they trudged up the stairs and greeted those gathered in the living room, he searched the laboratory for his brewing gloves. Heat-resistant, they were top-of-the-line brewing gloves, but for now they'd serve to hide his scars. After massaging a generous amount of numbing salve into his hands, he leaned against the workbench and allowed time for his skin to absorb it. 

It was going to be a long day. 

Pack business aside, he had to come to some sort of decision about whether or not he had any viable alternatives to  _ marrying  _ Eadric. All he really wanted to do was shut himself in his laboratory and experiment until he found a potion to heal his hands. Nothing currently existed, but there had to be a solution, and as long as he believed that, he could shield himself against the looming despair.

With a sigh, he pulled on the gloves, steeled himself, and headed upstairs. 

He knew he was walking into a meeting as soon as he exited the laboratory. Reginald was in the middle of interrogating the girls, but everyone fell silent as soon as his feet hit the stairs. He stepped onto the second floor, and the eyes of his lieutenants—Natalya, Jalia, River, and Reginald—met his own. 

River sat on the floor, lounging like the feline that was his second form. Natalya was propped up against the couch where Estella and Felicia were sitting. Jalia was in the kitchen, pouring a cup of fresh coffee, and Reginald stood facing him with his arms crossed. 

Servos didn't acknowledge Reginald's posture. “You've all no doubt seen or heard the news about the werebear that attacked downtown. In case it wasn't clear, enforcement consequently discovered that I was a shifter, and I was detained.” It was a simple summary, but he had no intention of giving a detailed recap of his ordeal with children present. 

Jalia cursed enforcement in creative ways until Reginald asked, “And Tyran's involvement?” 

Servos wasn't about to tell them about the brand. If and when he told any of them, it wouldn't be in a meeting or with the girls in the room. “He used his influence to get me released.”

All four of his lieutenants had questions in their eyes, but the only reason he said more with the girls in the room was because they already knew he'd been severely injured. “My stay with enforcement, though short, required days of healing.” 

He offered no further explanation, no details on his injuries or excuses why he hadn't contacted them. 

Natalya was the first to speak. “So, what’s this enforcement shit mean for the pack?” 

Natalya was not a sorcerer, and before his pack had rescued her, sorcerers had only ever caused her pain. 

Servos didn’t blame her for being on edge. “It means we proceed with caution. The wards will keep them at a distance, but that won’t stop them from watching who comes and goes.” 

Associating with a known shifter didn’t equate guilt, but enforcement would likely err on the side of caution. Thanks to his paranoid nature, the wards traced the perimeter of the property and were far enough away from the house and apartment complex that it would make spying on them difficult. That in addition to the thick trees that covered most of the land would offer them some protection. 

As their alpha, he owed them safety. 

“Then we make it hard for them to keep tabs on us,” Reginald said. 

Jalia nodded. “There’s more than one way off the property. I’ll make sure everyone knows to avoid the main route if they can.” 

Servos’ property rested on the border of Tarnov, far away from downtown. He hoped the old saying ‘out of sight, out of mind’ worked in their favor, but it was best to be prepared for the worst. 

Unfortunately, enforcement wasn’t their only concern.

“Girls,” he said abruptly. “Go to Estella's room and turn on the TV.”

"That's not fair!” Estella proclaimed, jumping to her feet with amber eyes. 

Servos met the gaze of her wolf and didn't blink until she dropped her head. “Breathe,” he ordered. 

She did, slowly and deeply. 

Control was a difficult task for an adult who had been bitten, let alone a child. It took years of discipline, but with so many eyes on her, she was under immense pressure to learn quickly. It wasn't fair, but they couldn't change it. 

Minutes passed, but everyone waited patiently. They too knew how important it was. 

When Estella looked back up, her eyes were honey brown once more. 

“Well done,” he praised her. “As I was saying, this is a routine pack meeting. You're not missing anything.”

Estella still didn't look pleased, but she listened and let Felicia lead her downstairs. 

When he heard the TV switch on in her room, he turned to his lieutenants. “I want extra patrols for the next month.” They had more enemies now. Extra patrols would help, but the pack couldn't stay on high alert forever. A month would have to do. Two tops.

“I'll organize it,” River said. He was in charge of the patrols, who ran them and when. 

“Good. What else needs my attention?” 

“Will we still be hosting a pack-wide event for Thanksgiving?” Jalia asked. She'd requested to be put in charge of organizing events for the pack, and he'd been glad to hand off that responsibility. 

A large gathering was the last thing he wanted to be hosting anytime soon, but this was the pack's first Thanksgiving together. He couldn't cancel it, and he had to attend. The pack was still new, and events such as this would help build and strengthen bonds between the members. “Yes.”

Jalia nodded, relieved

Reginald spoke next. “The alphas of the Bouda Pack tried to contact you while you were out.”

It couldn't be a coincidence. “We're assuming they've heard about the incident?” A rhetorical question because any alpha worthy of their title would have information networks that included spying on neighboring packs. Maizah and Kenyi Okoro, the alphas of the Bouda Pack, didn't strike him as incompetent. The werehyenas were as cunning as they were wild. “I'll deal with them later.” 

Diplomacy between packs was important, but it wasn't high on his priority list. Finding out who the rogue werebear was that had attacked Tarnov  _ was. _ “Is there a clan of werebears nearby?” Servos asked because if Reginald hadn’t known before this, he would have found out by now. 

“The closest is the Wisconsin-Border Pack.”

The border was over an hour away, but that didn’t mean they weren’t behind it. Although his pack was diverse, most shapeshifters formed packs with others of their species. Wolves, bears, hyenas, they all stayed with their own kind. That meant that the bear that attacked Tarnov was either from a local pack or was a loner. Neither seemed more likely than the other, but if the goal of the attack was destruction and chaos (which seemed likely in this case), wouldn't a pack send more attackers? 

He needed more information. “Arrange a conference call with the alpha.” 

“Will do,” Reginald said. 

It was a long shot but, “Was the news able to identify the rogue?”

“No.”

Of course the media couldn't be bothered to figure out who the man was. Who cared about the name of a lowly shifter? Changing directions, he said, “Track down the man that was attacked.” 

After questioning him, they either needed to integrate him into the pack or escort him out of their territory. If he was infected (and if he was alive, he was), he might have already been tossed out of Tarnov, but Servos trusted his lieutenants could find him. 

That covered everything, so he dismissed them but asked for Reginald to stay behind. 

“Shall we sit?” After spelling the immediate area against eavesdropping, he shared with Reginald what he hadn't with the others. He slipped off his right glove with care and exposed his scarred hands—the rough, red skin and the clear scar of a blade that had pierced them. “While in enforcement's  _ tender _ care, I had a run in with Councilor Dunn's lackies.”

“Shit.”

An accurate assessment.

Servos was, more than anything, a private man, but Reginald was in charge of security. Leaving him blind to a threat of this magnitude would be a disservice to them all, and more than that, Servos needed to discuss the consequences of that night and the decisions to come. 

When it was over, Reginald was rubbing his temples. “Let me see if I understand. The brand that Adalric Tyran forced on you as a kid made enforcement assume you belong to Eadric. That, in turn, got to Councilor Dunn—possibly because he has a spy in enforcement. Dunn then sent people after you to gather information on Eadric  _ and _ to send a message to him.”

“Correct.”

“Okay.” Reginald drummed his fingers on the table. “Let’s take a look at the positives. First, we can assume no one knows you’re a gryphon. If they did, you wouldn’t be walking free.”

Servos had already reached the same conclusion. 

“Second, they have no logical reason to target you again. Bluebloods like Dunn think shifters are less than animals and assume others feel the same way. He won’t see you as a valuable way to hurt Eadric.” 

“Except that Eadric has been championing for shifter rights,” Servos pointed out.

“True. No one knows his motivations, so that’s probably causing some unrest,” Reginald mused. 

What an inconvenient time for Eadric to have grown a conscience. 

There was nothing he could do about that, so he moved on. There was still a lot he had to tell his second-in-command. “There's more.”

Reginald looked apprehensive. “What?”

He wasn’t sure how to tell him about Eadric's literal proposal, so he sidestepped that issue and addressed another. “We should discuss the business first. If need be, I can sign the store over to you.”

No one apart from the pack and the Tyrans knew that Reginald wasn’t a pure-blooded sorcerer, so if public opinion turned against Servos, Reginald could easily take over. What Servos would do for work remained to be seen. The pack had funds available for emergencies. Every member that was able contributed a portion of their income into savings for the pack, but he wouldn’t be using it for himself. 

Reginald's blinked. “There's no need to be hasty. If—” 

“It isn’t only enforcement,” Servos said impassively. “I have nerve damage.” 

“Okay, so you need some time off to recuperate.” 

“That’s ridiculously optimistic.” 

“It's only been a few days.”

“Yes, because all nerve damage needs to heal is time,” Servos said dryly. 

Reginald gave him a  _ look _ that few others would dare. “While I have you here, I have a complaint to make.”

“No need to bother me with it now. I’ll make a suggestion box.”

Reginald ignored him. “When there's an emergency, you can’t leave me in the dark for days on end. I know you can send a telepathic message in an instant, so do it as soon as you can. I can’t do my job if I don’t know what’s going on. I had no idea what to do when Eadric showed up here demanding to bring Estella to you. Should I assume that he has that right from now on?”

Servos was still getting accustomed to relying on his pack. Even when he had his adoptive mother and Selna, he tried not to burden them with his problems—and look how disastrous that had turned out. Maybe if he had let himself rely on her, Eadric’s father wouldn’t have been able to torment him for so long. 

Needless to say, he had issues communicating and even more issues when it came to asking for help. 

Eh. No one was perfect. 

“I’ll keep that in mind. As for Eadric…” Servos gave a long-suffering sigh. “Pour us some coffee first.” 

  
  
  
  


As predicted, Reginald was less than pleased. Currently, his head was cradled in his hands, looking as though he was contemplating every step that had led them to this disaster. 

Servos sipped his coffee and enjoyed seeing someone else suffer through the madness that was his life. He didn't dare try drinking one-handed, but holding the mug was manageable with both hands. 

“Okay,” Reginald said at last, dropping his hands. “Okay. This isn't that bad. We can work with this.”

“Who exactly are you trying to convince?”

Reginald finally lifted his head. “It's obvious that he wants you, so that gives us some leverage. We just have to decide if what we get is worth it. A traditional premarital contract allows the proposed to make three requests of the proposed so that he can prove his dedication. After Felicia's sponsorship, that leaves two more.”

Servos wasn't sure what else to ask for. There wasn’t anything else he could imagine wanting from Eadric. 

Were they  _ actually  _ considering this insanity?  _ Someone  _ had to be the voice of reason, so he said, “You're being rather nonchalant about the alpha of this pack marrying a high profile sorcerer.” 

“I'm not the one you need to worry about,” Reginald said. “We were raised among sorcerers. Everyone else? They're just as prejudiced against sorcerers as sorcerers are against them. They trust us because we saved them. Eadric will have to earn it.”

Servos wanted to scoff at the idea of Eadric pandering to his pack, but after consideration, he realized it wasn’t too implausible. Eadric could be dangerously charming when he wanted to be. “To be clear, your assessment as my advisor is to go into negotiations with an open mind.” 

“I think...it would be premature to dismiss the idea, but if I can make a suggestion? One of your three requests should be that he formally joins the pack.”

Though Servos hadn't thought of it himself, he wasn't surprised by the proposal. Joining the pack required a blood oath, which was not done lightly, but was it a good idea? 

His confliction must have been obvious because Reginald said, “Look, I don't know what happened between you two, but if you have reasons besides the obvious not to trust him,  _ tell me. _ ” 

Servos didn't insult Reginald's intelligence by pretending nothing had happened when Eadric had clearly vanished from their lives for months, but was this the plea of a friend or a security chief? “It’s relevant.” 

Reginald saw that for the lie it was. “It really isn’t. If he’s caused you harm, that obviously changes my opinion.”

The abrupt statement caught Servos completely off guard. He opened his mouth to deny it but paused. Eadric  _ had _ hurt him—had drugged and taken advantage of him in the manor's library—so he closed his mouth. Lying to another shifter was always a risk. Their senses, when trained, could pick up on the minute physiological responses triggered by lying. Servos was a good liar, but he wasn't willing to risk it. 

His hesitation had Reginald reaching his own conclusion. “What the hell did he do?”

“Reginald.” Three syllables silenced the other man faster than any order would have. “Suffice to say, he's given me reason to be cautious.”

Reginald tapped a finger on the table. “Being cryptic isn't helpful”

“What exaggerated fantasies live in your imagination is—” 

“He tried to test the enthrallment potion on you.” 

Servos had no idea what had driven Reginald to make that illogical (and completely correct) leap, but he was stunned into silence, unable to even  _ try  _ denying it. He was usually much better at lying than this. Clearly, he’d suffered brain damage in addition to nerve damage. 

Reginald's usually calm demeanor melted away. “The treacherous fuck.”

“Reg—”

“He did it before the attack on the manor, right? That's how he knew you were immune to it.”

Servos did  _ not  _ like the idea that Reginald (or anyone) had given this issue extensive thought. Did they think him weak? Foolish? “Do I even need to be here?” Servos snapped, pretending his heart wasn't pounding in his chest. “It seems you’re having a lovely conversation with yourself.”

Reginald fell silent, but his azure eyes burned with fury—a rare sight. 

The quiet allowed Servos to debate what, if anything, to say. There was no excuse for what Eadric had done, but if he hadn't, they wouldn't have been able to outsmart Pythos Amador as easily as they had. Without knowing Servos was immune to its mind altering effects, without the soulbond—

Servos realized suddenly that he was going to have to tell Reginald about the bond. He needed to know if he was going to help negotiate a contract between them. Still, he hesitated. Only he and Eadric knew of its existence. It felt wrong to share, but there was no logical reason to feel that way. Was it his gryphon's instincts? Despite how sacrilegious it felt, he said, “You should know my magic created a mental link between Eadric and myself.”

Reginald frowned. “What?”

“My magic linked our minds. We now have a permanent psychic bond.”

At least three different emotions crossed Reginald’s face before he said, “Your life is a trainwreck. You know that?” 

Servos was well aware. 

“Gryphon magic?” At Servos’ nod, Reginald asked, “When you say bond…you mean like what you have with Estella?”

The entire pack knew Servos could use telepathy, but few knew that (only) Estella could reply back. “It’s different. I can hear his thoughts, but also feel his emotions. He can do the same with me. It also seems to demand…contact with one another.”

Reginald’s brows rose. “This is a first for me.”

“For me as well.” 

“I’ll try to look into it. See what I can find, but don’t get optimistic.” Awkward silence stretched until Reginald said, “You don't have to marry him, Servos. We have other options.”

“Please, enlighten me.”

Reginald didn't react to his snide tone. “We could relocate. Leave Tarnov.”

Servos could hear the reluctance in Reginald's voice. Generations of Reginald's family had lived in Tarnov, and this was where Servos' adoptive mother had welcomed him into her home. It was where Estella had been born, and it was the only place she could get a sorcerer's education thanks to Eadric. 

“No. We can't,” he replied. 

Reginald's expression turned grim, but he didn't argue. “I need to head to the shop. Do me a favor and take the month off. River and I can handle it.” 

That didn’t particularly sound like a favor, but Servos didn’t argue. There was too much else to be done. 


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter this time. :)

Rather than tend to the next problem that needed his attention, Servos took a reprieve and retired to his lab. It was exhausting to pretend he was fine for an audience, but when he was alone and had no one to perform for, it was worse. It had been ingrained into him at a very young age that how you felt mattered less than how you presented yourself. Letting others see your pain was taboo in his birth land. Not even his adoptive mother had been able to break him of the habit, but considering that Eadric's father (like many bluebloods) preached a similar philosophy, he wasn't surprised. 

Adalric Tyran had done his best to shape Servos into the perfect pet for his son. 

With a scowl, he removed the gloves and tossed them aside. His hands burned, reminding him of what he'd faced and what was still unresolved. He had to talk to the girls, call their schools to explain their absences, and come up with a third request that would make marrying Eadric worth the trouble it would bring. All he wanted to do was sleep. He rarely rested well, but he was still so exhausted from healing that he knew he would be out within minutes. 

Servos took a breath, went to the bookshelf, and began sorting through his potion journal collection—specifically searching for medical themed issues. He took his time, losing himself in the task. An article from last August's edition caught his attention—a review of a topical salve geared specifically towards nerve pain. The article was thorough, doing an excellent job of describing the three types of nerves and how the various ingredients specifically helped. It wasn’t made for nerve damage, but it inspired a train of thought that might be helpful. He grabbed a pen and began to take notes. Writing was unpleasant at best. His hands were unsteady and painful, but he pushed through it. 

A knock at the lab door interrupted him sometime later. “Uncle?”

Servos reluctantly took a break, flexing his burning digits. “Come in.” 

The door creaked open slowly, and Estella peeked inside tentatively. 

It wasn't like her to be so timid around him. He turned his stool to face her, on alert. “Yes?”

“Are your hands okay?” 

The worry and tension in her expression roused his protective instincts. How he wished he could shelter her—but, no. That wouldn't help her in the long run “The medmage healed them. There’s scarring, but I’ll be fine.” The nerve pain was his burden. Not theirs. 

She took a seat beside him at his workbench, eyeing his bands. “Are—are we in danger?” 

What a question for an eleven year old to ask. “We're always in danger.” She didn't laugh, but it hadn't really been a joke. Estella knew more about danger than most children her age. “I’m taking care of it, and Eadric is helping.”

Her relief was immediate. “Okay.” 

Had it been his confidence, mentioning Eadric, or a combination of both that sated her anxiety? The answer wasn’t really important, but it occurred to him that he hadn’t investigated how the girls would feel if he agreed to marry Eadric. He couldn’t outright ask, so he chose a different question. “What did you think about staying at the manor?”

Estella shrugged, averting her eyes. “It was fun.” 

Servos could tell she was trying to downplay how much she’d enjoyed it, but he couldn’t fathom why. He knew how alluring the manor’s many luxuries could be. Did she feel bad for enjoying them? “You didn’t feel unwelcome?”

She looked at him in surprise. “No. Mr. Merritt was great, and Iden—he was his usual annoying self.”

“And Mr. Tyran?” he prompted. 

“He was nice,” she replied. 

Eadric  _ nice?  _ Now Servos was even more suspicious. “That’s...good.”

“Why? Was he not nice to you?” 

When had this become about him? “He’s never nice to me.”

Estella rolled her eyes like he was joking. 

“I’ll have you know he kidnapped me and made me drink healthy smoothies,” he said with exaggerated indignation designed to make her laugh. 

Laugh she did, but her reply was drowned out by a buzzing in the back of his head—the wards reacting to an intruder. 

“Go to Felicia,” he told her. “Stay with her until I tell you otherwise.”

“What's going on?” she asked, but he was already rushing to the back door and alerting his lieutenants of the intrusion via telepathy. 

As soon as he was outside, he inhaled the cool autumn air, scenting as he scanned the terrain, from the house to the apartment complex to the woods that surrounded both. Having an intruder in their territory awoke the violent impulses of his gryphon. His mind conjured all sorts of possibilities as to who or what might be lurking and waiting to strike. Step by step, he followed his nose to the edge of the property, and a low growl rumbled in his chest when he recognized the intruder's scent. 

He’d never forget the stench of Kade Hans.

Jalia (in snow leopard form) arrived seconds later, mouth parted so that she could better take in the stranger’s scent. 

“Track him,” he ordered her, but he knew Hans was likely far gone. This was a message. Not an invasion. 

Jaw clenched, he followed Jalia as she traced the scent to the edge of their land, confirming his suspicions. Their enemy had gotten away. The gryphon spread its wings inside of him, its rage a coiled pressure that filled his entire being. 

Hans had teleported just outside his property, waltzed into his territory, and then escaped. How had he breached the wards as if they were nothing? Had he been certain no one would be quick enough to intercept him once he did? To do that, he would have had to be keeping an eye on the property.

“Servos.”

He looked to where Jalia had resumed her human form and was pointing to a tree. Pinned to its trunk with a plain dagger was a white envelope. Inside was a single black feather. A small one, likely from his wrist. 

He set it aflame and let the ashes fall to the ground. If they had one feather, they likely had more, but that didn't mean they had figured out what he was. Even most shifters assumed his form was avian when they saw his feathers. 

Servos took a breath, pushing down the fury, fear, and anxiety. This wasn't the time for rash decisions. His gryphon demanded retaliation, but he had to be smart. Attacking Councilor Dunn’s man would be an act of war, and it would invite further danger. So, what actions  _ could _ he take? He'd already upped the security of their small pack, but doing it indefinitely would be impossible. They simply didn’t have the numbers, and less than half of their members were fighters. They were all trying to rebuild their lives after the tragedy that had led them here.

He'd have to brainstorm with his lieutenants. 

“You know him?” Jalia asked, cutting through the silence. 

“His name is Kade Hans. Reginald can tell you more.” His instincts told him to keep it private, but he wouldn't let his pride endanger the girls. “Get River, and sweep the forest.”

“You got it, boss.” 

She left, but he remained where he was, contemplating recent events. For a moment, he imagined they were all connected, but he could find no underlying theme. If Dunn  _ was _ behind the werebear attack, why had his goons inquired after it? To throw Servos off their trail? No. It didn’t seem likely that Dunn had orchestrated it. He wasn’t known for using or associating with shifters. On the contrary, he killed them when he found them in his territory. 

So the werebear attack was a separate issue, one that had come at a pivotal political time. Eadric was the first potential councilor to publicly discuss shifter rights. Even Adrastos Lyfing, who had once tried to recruit Servos to take up his sister's work for the benefit of shifters, hadn't dared to. Servos had seen through his insincerity back then felt validated when he refused to make shifters part of his platform. 

He didn't necessarily believe in coincidences, so a shifter attacking Tarnov without an apparent reason was suspicious. It was a dream come true to those trying to prove shifters had no place in Tarnov. Fear was a powerful political tool. 

Many people stood to gain by seeing Eadric fail but two had more than most. Demetrios Nikon and Adrastos Lyfing, his competition for the available seat on the council. Servos didn't know if either were willing to sacrifice innocent lives for their agendas, but the fact that they wanted a seat on the council implied that they were. All over the world, powerful sorcerers ruled as monarchs, dictators, and councilors through a combination of ruthlessness, fear, and awe. 

Sorcerer politics were just as violent as shifter politics, so why was he considering getting involved by marrying Eadric? 

He went inside, called the girls to him, and had them help make carved turkey sandwiches for lunch. As much as he wanted to patrol every inch of the territory himself, he knew the best place to be was protecting Estella and Felicia. He had to trust River and Jalia. 

While they made lunch, he calmly explained to the girls that someone had trespassed, but the danger had passed. They seemed to believe him, and by the time they were done, River and Jalia returned to give the all clear.

The immediate threat was over, but the long-term one lingered.

He invited River and Jalia to join them for lunch, and although the food was delicious, the atmosphere was tense. When they were done, Jalia began cleaning up without being asked, rousing his suspicions. She was definitely up to something. 

“Reginald said you should rest,” River said, revealing he was in on it. 

“I'm curious. Was that before or after the wards were breached?” Though his question was heated, he wasn't angry with  _ them _ . 

River wasn't deterred. “Natalya is on patrol, and Jalia will be joining her. I will watch the girls.”

In the end, it was the concern on Estella's face that made him agree, on the condition that he be woken if further issues arose. 

As soon as he entered the dark bedroom, a wave of fatigue washed over him. The memories and feelings Selena’s old room inspired often affected his sleep, but as he shrugged off his attire in favor of a nightshirt, he knew that wouldn’t be a problem. 

Servos startled when he turned to the bed and was met with a golden-eyed gryphon plushie staring at him. Roughly twelve inches tall, it had a grey underbelly, beak, and feet and was black save for the cobalt-tipped feathers, eye markings, head feathers, and tail tip. 

In other words, it was a perfect replica of himself, and he knew who it was from before he checked the note lying beside it.

_ S, _

_ It may not be as captivating as you, but enjoy it anyway. _

_ E _

Why Eadric thought he would appreciate a stuffed animal was bewildering. He tossed the note onto the bedside table and plucked the toy off of the bed. It was disgustingly soft. Eadric had apparently spared no expense on its creation, leaving Servos perplexed. Was it a joke, playing off of Iden’s gift to Estella? Was this some sort of courtship gesture? 

Why was Eadric doing all of this? Servos was the antithesis of what an influential man should want in a partner. Despite all the lessons Adalric had forced on him as a boy, Servos was no aristocrat. He couldn’t be more different than the gregarious and elegant Amaya. She handled everything life threw at her with poise and turned it to her advantage—as she had done with her husband’s curiosity regarding Servos’ shifter nature. 

So, Eadric obviously wasn’t pursuing him to replace Amaya. 

Was he looking to add to his power? Bluebloods prized magical prowess. Even a sorcerer with no status might catch the eye of a blueblood family if they were powerful enough. As a boy, Servos had caught Adalric’s attention for that very reason. The adopted son of a potions expert, he had a peculiar genius for them himself. However, now that he had been unveiled as a shifter, no amount of power made their union worth Eadric’s reputation. There seemed to be absolutely no benefit for Eadric, a man on the edge of joining the ranks of the most powerful sorcerers, in associating with him. 

Servos considered the toy and was once again faced with the thought that Eadric might be drawn to him because of the bond. That he knew so little about his own magic was infuriating. Why on  _ Earth _ had Eadric invoked this bond if, as he claimed, he knew nothing about it? He never took a risk without calculation. 

That left only one possibility. 

Eadric was lying. 


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me /so much trouble/ to edit. Geez. @.@

The next twenty-four hours passed without incident. Apart from the burning pain in his hands, things almost felt normal. Jalia led the breakfast brigade while River and Natalya organized patrols. Afterwards, he took the girls to school and spent the day reading research articles before picking them up in the afternoon. 

Packmates filtered in and out of the house all day, more so than usual. They’d heard the news by now and were assessing how worried they should be, taking their cues from Servos. He remained confident and calm, and almost everyone that visited left less anxious than when they’d arrived. Even Beatrix, a tough wolverine shifter who might one day make lieutenant, passed through. 

He and the girls ordered take out for dinner, and Reginald joined them. An unspoken agreement not to discuss the upcoming meeting meant the conversation was largely dominated by the girls talking about their day. Felicia was quieter than she would have been if Reginald had been absent, but she still talked without being prompted. 

With River and Jalia watching over the girls, Servos and his deputy left for the manor. Merritt met them at the door and led them to the study—as if Servos needed an escort. As if he hadn't been to the study dozens of times before Eadric had inherited it. 

At least it wasn't the library. He grimly wondered if Eadric fucking and binding Servos in nearly the same place his father had enslaved him over a decade earlier was some kind of cosmic joke. It certainly  _ felt  _ like someone was having a sadistic laugh at his expense. 

Eadric stood when they entered, his gaze lingering on Servos before shifting targets. “Reginald. Thank you for coming.”

“Lord Tyran,” Reginald replied courteously, as if they hadn’t dueled days ago.

Bluebloods. Always so proper. 

Gray eyes shifted, appraising him next. “Servos.”

He loathed and loved the way Eadric could make his name sound like a sin. “Let's get to it, shall we?” 

“Impatient as ever, I see. That will be all, Merritt. Thank you.”

The butler left, closing the door behind him. 

Servos had the sudden urge to reopen it. As if he wasn't trapped either way. 

“Please have a seat.” Eadric motioned to two chairs positioned across from him at his desk where three copies of both contracts awaited. “I've prepared a preliminary contract for Servos and for Felicia. Take your time reviewing them.”

Reginald sat and began reading.

Servos remained standing and did the same. 

Eadric had been very thorough. 

The first document covered Felicia's sponsorship, and although it wasn't as simple as Estella's (Eadric had been kind to offer her a contract with minimal stipulations), it was generous. A standard sponsorship except that Eadric specified that Servos would retain his rights as her guardian, meaning that Servos had the final say on parental matters. It was a show of good faith, an unspoken indication that he meant her no harm. He didn't have to include it in the contract, but he did. 

Some of Servos' unease waned. 

The rest of it detailed what Eadric expected from her in regards to school and public behavior. Like Estella, she would not only represent shifters but House Tyran as well. 

He set her contract aside and moved on to the premarital agreement. All of it was in preparation for a marriage that would take place in six months if the contract was satisfied. Six months seemed too soon, but he wasn't sure arguing for more time was a priority. 

Upon marriage, Servos was to retain ownership of his business and property, but Eadric was granting him access to his estate and finances. That was…unexpected. Servos had no interest in Eadric's money. As a boy, Servos had envied his poise, the way he commanded respect, and his charisma. Never his money. 

The contract stipulated that, upon being signed, they would be considered each other's next-of-kin. Usually that came when the marriage was finalized, but since Eadric was already his medical proxy… 

“Who inherits your estate?” Servos asked. 

“Planning on killing me?” 

That made him look up. “Depends on who inherits,” he deadpanned. 

Eadric's lips twitched. “You and Iden. He's my heir, and you're to be my husband.”

Why did that make Servos uneasy? “I'll be leaving mine to Estella and Felicia.” It was Estella's birthright, and when he'd taken Felicia in, he'd made a commitment to her future as well. 

“Of course.”

Servos didn't like how suspiciously agreeable Eadric was being, but he returned to reading. 

The next paragraph stipulated that Servos was obligated to attend all social functions that a dutiful partner should. It could be discussed on a case-by-case basis, but the expectation was that he would attend unless there was an emergency that prevented it. 

Servos hated cocktail parties, fundraisers, and every other tedious, formal social gathering. Eadric knew that, but of course he had to show off his obedient shifter fiancé. Parade him around like a well-trained dog. 'Look how civilized he acts!' they'd all comment among themselves. 

He finished reading and waited.

After a few more minutes, Reginald made a thoughtful sound and put the contract down. “Before negotiations, you should know that Servos has chosen to enact the Courtship Clause.”

Eadric didn't seem concerned. “It would be my honor to prove my devotion to my betrothed. What three tasks have you chosen?” 

There were guidelines for what was acceptable to request and what was not, so he'd discussed them with Reginald on the drive over. 

“The first is simple—your sponsorship of Felicia. I want your word you'll treat her as well as you treat Estella.”

A whisper of offense through the bond. “I intend to. A slight against either is an attack against my House. Your second?” 

“For you to formally join the pack.” 

Eadric raised a brow. “It's rare for non-shifters to join packs, isn't it?”

Yes, it was but, “Mine is different.” Anyone who had an issue could leave. He wasn't a normal shifter and never would be. 

“What does joining entail?” 

“Taking a blood oath in front of the pack.” A standard tradition—one that Servos had kept. 

“Done,” Eadric agreed. “I'll leave that for you to organize, but there's someone I should introduce you to while we're on this subject.”

Servos couldn't fathom how a stranger could be relevant to this conversation. “Alright,” he said hesitantly. 

“Come in,” Eadric said loudly. 

The door opened, and a toned man of average height entered. Thick, strawberry blond hair hung to his shoulders, but it was as tame as his fitted grey suit. He was a shifter, a feline, but it wasn't apparent in any way except scent. As if he'd spent time learning to conceal his nature. He looked in his element, as at home in an overindulgent manor as his animal was in the jungle. 

_ A rogue in our territory,  _ the gryphon within growled.  _ Near our mate.  _

Servos let displeasure seep into his tone. “And you are?” 

“Cassius Clyde, Mr. Roesch. I run security for Lord Tyran.” 

When had this started? Sometime during their estrangement obviously, but how long had Eadric been hiding them from his pack? Servos turned his heated gaze upon his husband-to-be . “You brought a shifter into my territory.”

“Actually, I brought three,” Eadric replied, unapologetic. “I needed examples to show those that oppose integration. Cassius and his team are all shifters  _ and  _ sorcerers. Personally hiring them shows I mean what I say.”

As much as Servos wanted to see the change Eadric was fighting for, that didn't excuse the insult. “I cannot let rogue shifters prance around my territory.”

“You won't have to. Since we're uniting, they can join your pack, and it doesn't compromise their work.”

Because their loyalties wouldn't be divided between Eadric and the pack. Servos understood, but he didn't appreciate the deception. “If they want to join  _ and  _ are willing to submit to my rule, I'll allow it.” 

He sent Cassius a scathing look, and Cassius dropped his hunter green eyes. 

“Excellent,” Eadric said, ignoring the tension in the room. “That will be all, Cassius.”

Servos waited until Cassius had left to say, “He's been your source for information on shifters.”

Eadric's self-satisfied smirk said enough. “Your third request?” 

He glared but moved on. “I want the girls to be comfortable with you and our engagement before we marry, but they cannot be made aware of this condition.” Iden should also be comfortable with it before things progressed, but that was up to his father. 

Eadric contemplated the stipulation. “Agreed.”

Servos wasn't sure if Eadric understood, so he added, “We won't be getting married until they are, even if it takes longer than six months.” 

“It won't.”

So arrogant. 

Reginald moved things along. “Is there anything else you want to negotiate, Servos?”

Many things, but he had to prioritize. “I want it in writing that he cannot make any attempts to order or request me to harm anyone.”

Eadric remained outwardly impassive, but his voice was full of quiet rage when it slipped into Servos’ mind.  _ Did my father make you? _

Servos ignored the inquiry. 

Silence stretched on until Reginald cleared his throat. “Your response, Lord Tyran?” 

Eadric looked murderous. “Add it.”

Reginald marked the contract. “And, Servos, are you alright with changing your surname?” 

He wasn't, but it was expected. Fucking traditions. “I'd prefer to hyphenate.”

“That's usually done when both parties have an equally prestigious surname,” Reginald said, giving no indication if he agreed with it or not. 

“I will  _ not _ abandon the name of the woman that saved my life.” 

If Eva Roesch hadn't found him—a young boy lost in a foreign land with absolutely no survival skills—he likely would have perished. Worse even, someone like Adalric Tyran could have come across him first. Not for the first time, he realized how fortunate he had been. 

Eyes locked onto Servos', Eadric said, “Roesch-Tyran it is.”

Relief swept through him. Servos hadn't considered how much he valued his family name until he was faced with losing it. He almost thanked Eadric, but pride stilled his tongue. Instead, he said, “I want to discuss the fidelity clause next.”

“I'm afraid I won't budge—” 

“I agree with it.”

Eadric's short-lived surprise turned to smug satisfaction. “Don’t desire to share me?”

Servos sneered. “I simply don't care to see your trysts on the front of the paper every day.”

“Every day?” Eadric echoed, laughing. “You envision my life to be  _ quite _ fulfilling. Tell me, do thoughts of my trysts keep you up at night?” 

Servos didn’t take the bait, but Eadric was relentless. 

“What if I'm discreet? The newspapers need never know.” 

Even though it was a blatant attempt to invoke jealousy, it worked. Hoping the bond hadn't broadcasted it, Servos snapped, “As long as you don't mind  _ me _ taking the same liberties.”

They both knew he was more likely to run naked through the city than sleep around, but Eadric leaned forward, calm and full of conviction. “There will be no others for either of us—unless we  _ both  _ decide to take them to our bed.”

Servos had no idea what to do with that. He hadn't even mastered having  _ one  _ lover, and here was Eadric planning a future threesome. 

He was in way over his head. 

Reginald saved him. “So, we're in agreement with the fidelity clause. Anything else?” 

There was, and despite that it would certainly offend Eadric, Servos wouldn't agree to this farce without its assurance. “I want it clearly stated that physical and sexual abuse will result in immediate termination of the engagement or, if later, marriage.” 

Uncomfortable silence. 

_ You think I would hurt you? _

Servos met Eadric's dark gaze, unflinching.  _ You already did.  _

Eadric stiffened but the bond remained eerily silent. Ten long seconds passed. “Add it.”

Reginald did. “Anything else?” 

“We should settle on a move-in date,” Eadric said. “I'll hire professionals to ease the burden, but—”

Servos didn't remember agreeing to move in at all, let alone soon, but knew it was expected. “I'm not willing to live together until the girls are ready.”

“I've been charitable so far, but I won't budge on this,” Eadric said. “You have a month to move in, and if your safety becomes an issue, sooner.”

Servos' nostrils flared because—fuck Eadric—he didn't need protection. “Fine.” 

The room fell quiet while Reginald marked down the final changes. “Would you like to review the final contract or should we move onto the binding?”

_ Binding  _ ignited a tempest of anxiety. Feeling cornered, the need to flee or fight was overpowering, and since he couldn’t run— “A shifter for a husband. You’ve gone mad. No one will accept this.” And when it backfired, where would that leave Servos and his family? 

“They don't have a choice.”

Eadric withdrew a white object from a drawer, and when he slid it across the desk, Servos saw it was an envelope. The official wax insignias of the councilors stared back at him, such a startling sight that he dared not touch it. The need to know overcame trepidation, and he carefully extracted the letter tucked inside. 

Reginald, who had been glancing over Servos’ shoulder, inclined his head respectfully. “Congratulations, Councilor Tyran.”

Councilor Tyran. 

Conditioned fear, learned at the feet of a brutal man, sent a shot of cold adrenaline straight to Servos' heart. The edges of his vision became fuzzy, and his chest felt tight. Despite his attempts to hide it, Eadric’s concerned gaze told him he'd failed. Someone said his name, but he couldn't hear it over the roaring in his ears. He was underwater, sinking, drowning, but he couldn't move his limbs. Like one of those terrible nightmares where you're being chased when suddenly your limbs are weighed down and you  _ know _ doom is inevitable. 

The voices were arguing now, but it was the cool liquid lifted to his lips that pierced the veil of terror, the taste and texture familiar enough to reach past the primal fear. The calming potion did the rest, helping to banish the panic attack second by second until he felt unnaturally placid. 

_ This  _ was why he hated calming potions, but that hate seemed so distant under its effects. 

“Servos?” 

He met Reginald's worried gaze which peered down at him from above. Somehow, he'd ended up in the corner of the room. “Hm?” 

“I think you were having a panic attack, so I gave you—” 

“A calming potion. I'm mental, not moronic.”

“You're not mental,” Eadric snapped. He must have gotten up at some point because he stood nearby. Hovering but not as closely as Reginald, as if afraid to crowd him. 

Servos slowly got to his feet, glad neither of them offered assistance. “So, now you're a psychologist as well? I can't wait to discover what other secrets you've been hiding.” The worst of his anger was soothed by the potion, so his words lacked venom and hung awkwardly in the air. “We're not discussing what just happened, so shall we continue where we left off?” 

Reginald shook his head. “You're in no condition to sign a legal document. We can come back tomorrow morning when the potion has worn off.”

“No,” Servos said, simple but resolute. “We’re finishing this tonight.” 

“You can't sign legal documents under the influence of Class B—”

“I know the law, and I know the side effects.” Servos stood tall. “I don't need your protection. I need you to do your job.”

Reginald stared back, unflinching. “No.”

He'd only been an alpha for a handful of months, but Servos was not a man accustomed to disobedience. His intimidating persona invoked compliance more often than not. The potion soothed his temper before it could flare but didn't deter him from his goal. “Then I'll find someone who will.”

“Perhaps waiting would be best,” Eadric interjected. “You can sleep off the potion here, Reginald can return home, and we can conclude our business in the morning.”

Reginald glared. “You think I'd leave him here alone with  _ you?”  _

The biting, accusing tone wiped the diplomacy right off of Eadric’s face. “Tread carefully, Roux. Some would find your tone offensive.”

Servos intervened before Reginald escalated things further. “If you both could kindly stop making decisions for me—” As he'd hoped, that shamed them both into silence. “Thank you. 

Reginald, we concluded crafting the contract before I took the calming potion. If further negotiations are needed, I'll concede to wait until the morning. If not, may we  _ please  _ move forward?” 

Reluctantly, Reginald said, “Fine,” but with enough hostility to convey exactly what he thought of Servos' fiancé-to-be. 

Unconcerned with Reginald's opinion, Eadric said, “I'm satisfied with the contract. If you are as well, Servos, we can proceed.”

Even with the potion muting his mood, 'satisfied' seemed like such an insult. Servos was giving up a lot—freedom, independence, and anonymity—but Eadric was merely  _ satisfied?  _ “Certain that you don’t want to address marital duties?” he asked snidely. “Why not a prodigy clause? Don't you want a litter of cubs to show off to the press?” 

Eadric calmly raised a brow. “I would love nothing more than to have children with you, but we should discuss that at a later date, don't you think, darling?” 

_Darling?_ Two could play at that game. “Whatever you say, muffin _._ ”

Eadric's conflicted look had Servos fighting a smirk. 

Reginald looked exasperated. “Ready?” 

Servos', “As ready as I'll ever be,” wasn't as enthusiastic as Eadric's firm, “Yes,” but Reginald didn't comment. He laid out the updated contract, and once they'd all signed it (including himself as a witness), he made copies with a spell. 

Then it was time for the binding ceremony. 

Servos had never signed a magical contract before. It wasn't nearly as common as it used to be, and many sorcerers went their entire lives without having to. So, he wasn’t sure what to expect. 

“Face each other, and hold hands,” Reginald said. 

Upon hearing the instructions, Servos remained motionless—which was ridiculous. They'd had  _ sex _ . Holding hands should have been nothing. 

Eadric issued a daring look and offered a hand, palm up, as if inviting him to dance—and Servos was struck by a memory. Repeating choreographed steps in the ballroom, teenagers under the scrutinizing gaze of their instructor. He'd lacked skill, but Eadric hadn't let him become discouraged. 

Things had always been complicated between them, but there had been a time when he'd trusted Eadric—as much as he could ever trust someone outside his adoptive family. 

Hesitantly, Servos accepted his hand, and though he worried it would exacerbate his nerve pain, Eadric's touch was gentle as he tugged Servos closer and took his other hand as well. Warm, manicured fingers caressed his scarred skin, making him electrifyingly aware of every millimeter of contact between them. Touch usually made him anxiously recoil, and outside of his little family, he avoided it altogether—unless his gryphon was holding the reigns. This—this was different. It made his heart pound for different reasons, reasons he wanted to ignore. 

“Councilor Tyran?” 

Servos startled at Reginald's voice, earning him an amused look from Eadric. 

_ Distracting, am I? Now, imagine if I had more than your hands to work with.  _

The audacity of this man. 

Unable to choose a single, scathing reply, he settled for giving an unimpressed stare. 

Eadric did not need to be told what to say and began the ceremony. “I, Eadric Tyran, vow to fulfill the negotiated premarital contract to the best of my ability—with the best of intentions—and vow to prove myself and my House worthy of my fiancé's devotion and loyalty.”

Magic began to build between them with each word, and with Reginald's help, Servos said his part next.

“I, Servos Roesch, vow to fulfill the negotiated premarital contract to the best of my ability—with the best of intentions—and vow to give my fiancé the chance he deserves. I vow to honor House Tyran and its legacy, to prove myself a valuable addition to its ranks.”

The magic built, raging like a storm, and hung between them until Reginald lifted his hand, using his focus to channel it. “And so it shall be.”

A sharp intake of breath echoed his own as magic rushed over him like a warm breeze. It settled like a bird coming to roost, and then the air in the room was still.

It was done. If either of them failed to keep their word, their own magic would alert the other. There was no way to lie when it came to a magically binding contract, and that's why so many of the old families preferred them. 

Eadric released Servos’ hands, reached into his pocket, and held out his hand. Resting on his palm was an ornate, white-gold ring. The Tyran family crest was etched into both sides, but the centerpiece was the gemstone. It shimmered with a whitish-blue light. 

A moonstone. A very popular choice among shifters but—

“My kind don’t use moonstones to celebrate unions,” Servos said. 

“What do you use?”

Casual though his tone was, Servos could feel Eadric’s eager curiosity through the bond. He rarely spoke of his homeland, so he couldn’t blame Eadric—but that didn’t mean he had to answer. 

Servos shook his head. 

To his credit, Eadric didn’t press, and with Servos’ permission, he slipped the ring on his finger. 

It caused minor discomfort, making his ring finger burn, but Servos hoped it would pass. “I’ll be getting you something to wear too.” 

Eadric didn’t take that as the threat it was meant to be. “I look forward to it.” 

**Author's Note:**

> If you've gotten this far, thanks for reading! I love feedback - even critiques. Just be gentle! If you like what you see here, stick around. It's my hope that I'll be updating once a week (at least). If you're looking for more to read in the meantime, check out my profile! I have a few published books and more information can be found about them on <https://acelinwolf.wixsite.com/ameliamoore/books>. Try a free sample! 
> 
> You can join my facebook group, [Moore Fiction](https://www.facebook.com/groups/719402408517090/) to keep up with new/upcoming projects. :D


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